The dirty mule

"Life In The Hive"

2008-12-31T22:40:44Z

I opened the door of the idling 18 wheeler I had spent my last two days in and jumped with purpose from the lip of the frame. As I descended I scanned my surroundings and visualized my exact position on earth as it would appear to a great eye in the sky. On landing, a quick thought about how small I really am and how nothing really means anything anyway rips quickly through my head. It is dark, only the outline of a grand Eastern deciguous forest is apparent to my still adjusting eyes, I gave a sincere thanks to the trucker that had allowed me access to his lifetime of lessons learned and headed to my tree line to set up a home base for my upcoming explorations. Laying down for the night I entertained streaming dreams of food, fornication, and every primal desire that has been nearly eradicated from my life. In the morning poked my head out of a rapidly warming tent and stared down a purple sunrise recalling the nights feature attraction and justified my denial of those simple things I had given up in trade for new knowledge.

This new territory was intriguing it smelled like hasty progress, commotion and struggle. As I branched away from my home in the trees I was repeatedly stung with the reality of my new surroundings, I was an integral part of a hive that makes your local East coast truck stop one of the most interesting microcosms known to man, Ha Ha Ha! hitch hikers, truckers, prostitutes, cops, beggars, shoppers, thieves, attendants and hustlers. The dynamic is mind boggling, everyone looking for something different in this mad max mecca of debauchery. My attempts to avoid the mayhem reminded me of my childhood army games. Of course this time around I wasn't carrying my trusty squirt gun and my long unused hide and seek tactics only worked most of the time. When they failed the experiences were most definitely not easy to forget.

Exploring the East coast via hitch hiking was honestly one of the more difficult tasks I had undertaken since the beginning of my adventure. My rides came almost exclusively from truckers or police. The number of times I found myself in really bad neighborhoods was about five too many, of course I survived each time so maybe my badness meter was off a little. Equally scary were the times I found myself in neighborhoods far too decadent for the likes of me, these situations often leaving me on the brink of arrest due to the lethality of the tripod I carry with me. According to Ben my friendly New York police officer, it supposedly drew far to close a resemblance to a modern day rocket launcher? Alas, it was not all that bad, just challenging! I felt greatly privileged to be exploring a region that has over the decades helped spawn so many new degrees of freedom for “all” the people of America. Visiting the old world structures full of so much history and perseverance, engaging countless numbers of people, all of which were absolutely electric with the prospect of possibly electing a president that defied so many of the monotonous traditions we associate with modern politics. I can admit, I was actually feeling a little patriotic as I wandered through city after city full of historical significants. Seeing people doing! Not so much talking, but off of their couches working together to accomplish a unified mission. Kinda cool, politics aside.

"Life In The Hive" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Technical Difficulties"

2008-12-31T22:39:02Z

Due to five Beautiful days of rain in Northern Virginia some of our computer gear has unfortunately taken on moisture. Regardless of precautionary measures that are "almost" always in effect my posts have been, well; non existent, as so many of you have so diligently noticed. Just to be clear I am alive and well, the computer is now fixed and we will continue our adventures as planned.

As a side note; I have received an overwhelming quantity of emails from loyal readers out there. I would love nothing more than to respond to each one individually as I have tried to do in the past. Time simply has not allowed me that opportunity and on that note, "no pun intended" Please forgive my recent silence.

A very special thanks and three very big hugs go out to Regina Smith, Dara Jezierny and Colette Henderson for stepping up and saving the day. Someday I hope to repay your kindness ten fold but in the meantime lets leave it to Karma, bless you all.

"Technical Difficulties" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Spicy Substance Abuse"

2008-09-24T23:07:33Z

I have always been a fan of spice. When an adequately trained cullenist puts a delicate touch to a dish, it can sharpen humble food into a masterwork fit for kings and queens, which of course I am in my naive imagination. At least some days I am, and others...well, some days must simply be marked "other," a lame attempt at salvaging my drunken dreams of faultless nutriment. This weeks escapades were to be nearly faultless, except that to my wonderment I find myself refined like a simple sauce and served up as the dish of the day. Of course, all respects to the chefs, but I felt as though the flavoring used in this masterwork was although perfectly paired to the main course, a tad heavily spiced for my refined tastes.

Officially halfway around North America a new set of challenges gradually unfold as my wanderings inch ever closer to the Atlantic. The new atmosphere is affirming...You must adapt or be still. So quickly, I conform knowing that I must, if I want to move down the road with any efficiency. The anatomy of catching a ride among other details must change drasticly, stepping out on the freeway setting up shop and expecting people to stop is now, unlike past days...silly. My directional sign with a smile simply wont do on congested roadways ruled by absent minded motorists on missions. The answer a logistical one in my mind...Every day thousands of over worked, hungry, and habitually tired truckers across the country depart from filthy fuel stations, and greasy spoons turned halfway house and head in every direction conceivable. Most of these truckers distribute loads from one end of our continent to the other, and should be happy to have someone to talk to while they work, like myself! Sounds like a match made in heaven...right? Well not as perfect as you might think, but it works out. An interesting role these men and woman of the road play and we should all know it, these champions of the road bring us all of our precious "things," wherever we may be. But what they bring me today is something entirely different, an opportunity to move very long distances through the intimidating urban sprawl of the North East, in relatively short amounts of time. So I quickly learn the etiquette of the friendly freeway truck stop, and capitalize!

So how exactly does a peaceful stray such as myself find himself the overly flavored main course on a buffet line of buffoonery? Well, my first ride in the big rigs nets me a meager 1000 miles; from Billings, Montana into the shiny metropolis of Minneapolis, Minnesooota. It is here, in this converted kitchen of middle America that a spicy dish of Republican National Convention is being served up in substantial portions. Ohhh Mike, what have you wandered into this time...? Lets be clear, It was an absolute privilege and pleasure to shuffle myself and entourage, into a sea of 10,000 peaceful, planned protesters, marching to their cause of the day. Ye ha!!! Right? Well not really. Not that I mind being in proximity to these faithful Americans as they exercised their freedom of speech, but I have always thought that this attention getting technique is, while understandable generally a fruitless affair in the end. But today I foolishly resolve that this bit of dissent could be an exceptional bit of footage for my movie, so I join the countless journalists, amateur photographers, and newscasters standing street side to document the proceedings.

The emotion in the air is one of exclusion, I can feel the separation that lingers between the mob and their opposition. The polarity of Ideas and belief now being whittled down to a confrontation, the energy lays patiently, waiting for its moment, like a lightning bolt in a box it cannot be contained. The mob believing that it is their right to be there in rejection of the show of force, the opposition amping up for that instant the dissidents blow through the carefully contrived conceptions of what is O.K and what it means to go to far. Standing in neutrality I decide that these two forces had been doing a pretty decent job of allowing each other to exist, regardless of the tension and angst pulsating from within, but surely this kind of energy wont stand up to the test of time, I can feel it. And the moment comes, like gods voice over the radios of grenade clinching, club popping cops in limbo. THE PROTEST ACROSS THE CITY IS OUT OF HAND, never mind where exactly. IT JUST IS! In hundreds, the shield wielding fleet of night draped shepherds move in unison to master their flocks, they begin manipulating the pulsing mass with shields as if to imply, DISPERSE! The mob acknowledges the prods with a myriad of responses, some sitting, some yelling, some running. I simply maintain my spot to the side in quiet fortitude, running my camera and shaking my head at what I would call typical responses from both sides, all of them caught in the intensity of the moment. As events unfold, escalation becomes the monument to which everyone bows and the day becomes dark as a superior force unleashes their tools of destruction. The mob is now carved down to simple die hards and martyrs wishing to roar to the world what moves them and you know what happens next, heads are bashed, smoke envelops everything, and reduction of pepper flows freely in the eyes of all who find themselves within a half mile of the mayhem. What one could not have known is that the direction of violence was now rolling like heavy freight into the media section where I sit in supposed safety. Through my sub conscience I am made immediately aware of my appearance, my cargo pants, and looming backpack full of god knows what? They essentially manifest a target on my back, I defuse my pending predicament by calmly placing my hands above my head and attempt to explain my position as they converge. After unloading the contents of my bag I am asked to relinquish the contents of my camera under threat of sure handed violence, by a shield faced boy at least 5 years my junior. I, unlike many of my neighboring camera holders oblige and was sadly gratified by my decision, as camera fall to the ground and I watch frenzied cops haul kicking and screaming members of the media to their new confinements. I walk off half blind and awestruck at the retardation I had just witnessed. I quickly found the nearest hydration station and closed my day washing the remnants of spices gone awry from my enraged eyes.

Having had my fill of city life I clamored back to safety and staked myself out at the nearest truck stop oasis in the area and posted up for the night and a glorious night it was. Sitting in deep thought, slightly itchy, still trying to swallow the serrated pill I was forced fed early in the day. I was forced to ponder the state of things as they were. I began the long process of untangling the numerous questions now fittering through my overly seasoned brain. What do you say about such an experience? I escaped with the realization that we should all be questioning our status as "citizens." What is a citizen? What rights do we have? Do we watch as our fellow commoners are attacked by protectors? What if I were out there for something I believed in? Should these atrocities go unpunished? Do I live in a free society? These are questions that I know the answer to. Do you?

"Spicy Substance Abuse" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Green Dreams"

2008-09-04T04:06:29Z

I suspend the meaning of life in front of my nose like uncatchable prey, again chasing illusions of purpose and purity. Same story, find it, loose it, find it again, loose it, like a child with a new pet I repeatedly find novel satisfaction with my transient achievements, I ask myself... will you let it end? My answer a flaccid, No. I desire this game, and my surroundings only encourage me and my toying. They bait me with these enthusiastic exploits, perfectly willing playmates, and whispering landscapes. Alaska is my new playground, and the air is pulsating, raw, ripe with providence.
These are my conditions as I stagger into my home town of Anchorage Alaska, boots beaten, bag ragged, 3 months of strain showing through without discernment. The condition of my tools are at their worst, at the absolute brink, they are ready to submit to their fate as landfill. Me, and my gear are again in desperate need of restoration, Keeping with what has become a fortunate tradition, my many needs were again fully met. This time it is my steadfast family that offers an understanding hand, my father and sister both opened their homes and put their skillful hands to use helping to rebuild each of my instruments of survival one stitch at a time. All of my downtime enthusiastically filled by my younger brother with as many mini adventures as he could compress into 24 hour day.

My core rejuvinated with as much laughter and love as I could possibly endure it was time to conjure up all my restless energy's and start thinking Easterly. As I chewed on thoughts of my next trek to the Atlantic, I could not have known that a monster of sorts was slowly creeping into the waiting wing of my future. 30+ft long, army green in color, and smelling of french fries. What? Yeah, french fries. So it wasn't really a monster, but the way people stared at the thing you would have thought it was carrying a nuclear warhead. This misunderstood giant was actually a bus, its contents comprised of one captain, Lucas Sweeten of Kentucky and co conspirator, Andrea Boisclair of the Yukon. The mechanical beast was a 15 year old school bus, gutted and rebuilt to fit the lifestyle of its master pilot Lucas. A 25 year old, veteran of the united states military, this Iraq war vet was in an intense chase for an absolute escape from forced apathy of his previous occupation. His passenger Andrea on board for the shear excitement of unknown adventures to come, was riding along and played the role of giggle master and chef. The bus had been built to the exact specifications of Lucas with multiple intentions including, self sustainability, escape from dependence, and adventure. Its electrical power came from a perfectly assembled solar panel that very efficiently collected and stored the free rays of sun. The fuel that moved the apparatus was derived from vegetable oil that had been easily collected from every greasy spoon and burger joint that was lucky enough to have its blackened junk oil hauled off for free. The contents that filled the moving clubhouse included motorcycles, canoes, and musical instruments among many other carefully chosen tools of exploration. Stepping on board for the first time was simply a pleasure, the feeling in the air was that of struggling freedom. These were my people, I could relate to their condition, trying in vain to escape the inescapable. This was the greatest attempt I had seen to date by a member of my generation, and it made me proud to be included. These were not the x-box superheros that make up the majority of my socially declining peer group. Exploration of body, mind, earth was the quiet mantra that vibrated through each of us while we basked in unison at the presence of like minded individuality. Sunrises were spent lazily in drawn out slumber, our dreams only penetrated by slicing rays that peeked through blinds into our green time capsule. Days spent in all manner of unregulated activity, excluding only the mundane routines forced on our forgettable pasts. Sunsets spent on top of our mobile house enjoying a bond of silent interconnectivity while the sun dipped below glacier spiked mountains.
Not in a hurry we slowly made our way East to the town of Whitehorse, a completely secluded artistic outpost in the middle of the Yukon, and home to Andrea the giggleing caretaker. We pulled our fantastic green unit into the yard of her house, opened the door and festivities erupted simultaneously. The yard we were temporarily occupying was also called home to a handful of wanderers from every corner of the world. They filed from tents that littered the yard, and converged on the bus with beer, music and, stories. This was only the beginning, of what would turn into 7 nights of solid convergence on our small little corner of Whitehorse. The time I spent indulging in this unity was special to me, I was accepted like family into this community and was touched to see the blind interconnectivity between so many displaced strangers. Some of which had simply walked into the yard because it looked like fun, others who lived in that yard, and even more that called the inside home. Night after night performers from every imaginable walk of life would share their talents for all to enjoy, and although the group was comprised primarily of starving artists a nightly feast would secretly manifest itself from nothing and nowhere. All empty bellies were filled.

Leaving was inevitable, both me, and Lucas had pressing business in the East, like wandering and other critical nonsense. So sadly we said good bye to the countless individually amazing people we were exposed to, and departed East. From here the adventure continued to blossom into one of the most picturesque migrations I have had the pleasure to partake in since the inauguration of my recent migratory status. It began anew at the hands of a maestro named Sam, a curious stranger that entered our lives only a day before departure, and vanished just as quickly, but not before he handed out a beautiful present. It was a gift that has been passed through the hands, and minds of countless world defining thinkers, artists, and lucid dreamers for a thousand years in variant forms. I will only say that it long ago influenced my life to the core, it usually comes in brilliantly designed small paper squares, and is ignorantly criminalized by fools. Enough said? If thats not enough information for you, remove your helmet, screw your thinking cap on and write me directly, or do some objective research on your own time. We utilized our sacrament to its fullest, said our goodbyes, amassed 65 gallons of veggie oil, and hit the road. Having so recently blown the dust off our brains, the days through Northern Canada sparkled with brilliant infallibility. Only our physical bodies requested further restoration from the week of saturated goodness. Lucky for us nature satisfied every conceivable want with acres of natural hot springs, berries and mushrooms, and spring water. Through our time together an accord was come upon by Lucas and I, we both figured it was only logical that our uniformly lost souls should reunite in the future with a greater goal. So it has been agreed, Lucas will be joining me on the hike through South America later this winter, sooo. Everybody say hi to Lucas!

"Green Dreams" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Rough Sea's"

2008-08-06T22:20:34Z

I sit cross legged on the cold pavement of an empty road in silent reflection. I examine the vastness of the snowcapped mountain ranges, peering at me from every direction. My imagination provides me a picture of great eye's fixed atop each jagged point, every one a towering overlord piercing me with a ray of cold benevolence as I deliberate. I am certain that a true border has been crossed. Not that imaginary line in the dirt, guarded by each half of the North American continent with outposts and machine guns. This border is built of solid granite peaks, some of them 2 miles high with a true view of the world below. Trees that have stood for ages, witnesses of the cruelest cycles the planet could muster. Water- so furious that in-depth exploration remains an impractical dream in the minds of those who would dare. This is the great white North! In my view, beginning midway through British Columbia, it extends North through Alaska. The environment is as diverse through this corridor as the rest of North America combined. Rain forest, Arctic, Wetlands, Deserts...among others.
This section of the road was to be my biggest challenge; I had known this from the start. At least my sign would be easy, "North" should do the trick. I was scooped up almost immediately as is the way of things amongst our friendly neighbors to the North. The man behind the wheel was Trevor, a man on a mission- a mission for mom. "Mom" had been through the storm of a lifetime - the unexpected death of her soul mate. Almost simultaneously, she had been diagnosed with cancer - for the third time! To top things off, she had been forced to evacuate the island paradise that her husband and she had built in the shadow of the majestic Queen Charlotte islands. Together they had shared a fairytale existence of simplicity, sharing space along side its first inhabitants, the Tsimshian Indian tribe, of the first nations. Danielle, "mom", had raised her family in the temperate rain forest environment living off of the land. They made a modest living harvesting the bottom of the sea. They hunted everything from abalone, and geoduck to sea cucumbers. Now Trevor had charged himself with helping her make the transition off the island to an unfortunate trailer in the city. Yet again, sitting in the truck, I found my sense of direction waning . Logic was telling me to head North. I really needed to be in Alaska soon, before the weather turned, and here I was again flirting with the idea of another side excursion. I could not resist though. This was a family in need and I was in a position to help. I offered my services to Trevor and quickly found myself headed 700 miles directly west of the only road to Alaska. I was greeted in Prince Rupert B.C. by a woman in grieving over the massive upheaval that had just been handed to her. When I stepped through the door of the trailer that we were to restore for Danielle, I was manhandled (woman-handled?) with a sincere embrace that lasted an easy 30 seconds. Trying her best to express gratitude at my unexpected arrival she sobbed and whispered thank you until I could feel the tears welling in my own eyes. She didn't think twice that I was a strange, dirty, hitchhiker from America. She only saw me for what I was at that moment, a person willing to help. Trevor and I spent the next week tearing down the water damaged trailer, and then systematically rebuilding everything back to new. The next mission was to take a boat to the island that had been home for so long, and remove all of her earthly possessions in preparation for the big move back to the trailer. I was fortunate in the fact that once all of the the work was complete, I was generously rewarded with an introduction to some of the finer things that island life had to offer. "Bounty" and "beauty" are the words that come to mind when I think about the rewarding events that culminated our mission. We caught and cooked at least one of every living thing in the ocean, and cooked it island style. Salmon, halibut, prawns, clams, crab, sea cucumber, shellfish, berries, etc, etc. In addition to seeing and tasting my way through the islands I was blessed to develop some very real, and lasting friendships with these people of the sea. Before I left this fantastic land of natural beauty and richness, I was given very special parting gifts that will stay with me for life as treasures that accompany a story that I will never be able to forget. One of the gifts was a ticket on a boat headed straight for Alaska. Another was a hand knitted coat of many colors that I'm told once belonged to the saltiest, most cunning sea captain in the world; Captain Dan Pollock. So, in respect for a life lived without fear, and always on the edge of a wave, we remember those that have passed before us.

"Rough Sea's" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Faces in the forest"

2008-07-04T19:35:35Z

Trust, defined as. A relationship of reliance. We all struggle uniquely, day to day with this sometimes complex sensation. Over time, we all will have most likely experienced some calamity, or another, on this unpredictable front. While we usually learn to move on, cope, and toss up some solid logic regarding human behavior. Their are those very special occasions, when we find ourselves, necks writhing to the heavens in irate vexation, as we suffer what we all at some point in our growth classify, as eternal harassment from the great beyond. Which of course we deserve, cause we were bad. Don't argue, you know you were...you know it! We all have a different explanation as to why this occurs, punishment, karma, chance, among many, many other colorfully constructed explanations, that exist in bounty throughout the world. Having had the pleasure of testing a handful of these rock solid theories for myself, Obviously with a sincere desire to find something that even comes close to resembling a reliable pattern. I am left perfectly perplexed by the randomness of, both the blessings that life brings, as well as the curiously timed, and of course well deserved, punishments that are dolled out. Though it has become clear, in my opinion, that suffering these punishments is completely relative to your situation in life. What we comfortably call the "Worst Day Of My Life!" in the West is likely just another day, for people everywhere else. So lets try real hard to keep the stories im about to drop in perspective. After four days of perfectly "divine sequencing" along the coast, a natural lull in activity had begun to solidify, and was quickly becoming the new "phase." While this "phase" was an ideal time for me to ponder, process, and organize the prior week's greatness. I had begun to feel like maybe I had stumbled into some altruistic world of cosmic understanding in my new phase of introspection. Speaking metaphorically, I felt as though I had scaled the tallest mountain on the horizon, jumped off the tip, headfirst into lake "vulnerability," and I swam it! No food, no bed, no consistency, no outs. Only trust...Trust in what though? People? Energy? God? Nature? What? So far, I had come to a suspicious understanding with myself, in regards to the answer. Living on the cusp of society, doing my best to spread good in the world was clearly boomeranging right back too me in the form of a sincere notion of enlightenment.It seemed everything I was putting out to the earth, was coming back in the exact same fashion. Positivity bred more positivity, likewise negativity bred more negativity, and of course, my trust was being placed in that exact formula. In truth I have lived most of my life in adherence to these understandings, but in honesty I did not completely trust that the same way of living would transgress to this larger stage on the road. It is always these moments of supposed understanding, and trust that my doubt dragons begin to get restless. I know all about this, not my first trip around the block. In fact I have been circling for a long time. I started on my tricycle, then my training wheels, bike, car, now I find myself somewhere between a light plane and supersonic jet pack, but alas still circling. As I circle I find myself descending upon a lovely deposit craftily dubbed Eureka Ca, Eureka indeed! I know it doesn't suit my nature to be so satirical, buttt mommm.... it sucked! Sorry Eureka fans, im sure their were many admirable qualities that I walked right past in complete ignorance, but I was soaking wet, cold, lost, and hungry, thanks to the stupid rats that chewed their stupid way through my stupid pack to get to the stupid gold fish crackers I had so kindly been given back in Niceville! Oh well, rats gotta eat too. Sensing any negativity? After a miserable 5 mile city hike, I at last found a lone Star bucks outpost that put out a solid wi fi signal. I argued with myself for about 2 seconds about entering the chain I have come to despise. But of course I quickly gave in, swallowed my pride, and walked inside the corporate behemoth. Not bad, I think I can see why people spend their retirements here. I happily immersed myself in the glare of my computer screen, with high hopes of finding a host on Couch surfing.com. Nothing...*#@!, I had already spent one night in this trap, not all that bad...minus those dirty rats! But that spot had been conveniently located on the far edge of town, where trees, and camp spots were plentiful. Now I was in the thick of it, 10 or so miles from real trees or camp sites. I was forced to come to an understanding with myself right there, this was a suck it up moment for Mike. As the sun began to drop, and Star bucks decided that I had consumed enough of their free ice water, and electricity. I shuffled off, into the freezing night, in search of a good covert camping spot in the middle of Eureka, and they were plentiful, Yeah! Uhhhnfortunately, every single one of them was occupied by another cold, wet, presumably uncomfortable human in search of safety, and respite. I was forced to instantly humble myself, the toddler like frustrations that I had been nurturing all day could never compare to the suffering of these oft invisible street dwellers. That night I was introduced to about 15 or so, of these individuals as i wandered. The large majority obviously suffering one form of mental disorder, or another. No they weren't high, Ive worked in the field. Disorders. One spot that I stumbled upon was approximately 5 acres in size, and supplied a flat spot about every 10 feet for someone to lay on, they were all full. As I walked through, in awe of the alternate reality I had just entered, I was awestruck at the degree to which people had turned the area into a home in the trees. To my right someone had eerily lined a tree with a wide array of stuffed animals that had been carefully organized biggest to smallest. My initial reaction to this sight was fear from the bottom of my stomach, Quentin Terantino could not have produced, a more fear inciting picture, each animal had a mud, and rain mixture running like tiny rivers from the plastic eyes of each evil looking toy. They sat like gargoyles in the night, protecting the inhabitants from outsider intrusion.To my left, was a community of adults, two of them with small children. I thought to myself...WTF, I guess that would explain the stuffed animals. Part of me wanted to move up the road as quickly as I could manage, another desired to stay, and decipher this mess. Why in gods name are their children out here?In the rain, In the mud? So I picked an elderly woman that looked as though she had been looking after the interests of the children. I attempted to initiate conversation, but she was insane, she didn't make a lick of sense. Before I could explore further I saw the lights of two police cars pull up on the 5 acre site. People scattered as the cops descended. This was surreal, I have seen such things all over the world, but never, had I witnessed such poverty in my own country. This brief interaction had completely knocked me out of negative mode, and my head was bursting with questions. Do people know about this? Of course they do? How could they not? What are they doing about it? Obviously not enough! I thought back to my walk through Eureka earlier that morning, and made some definite re connections, with the faces in the forest. Some of them I had blindly passed in the day. One of the face's was seated in a hidden corner at Star bucks shaking his head side to side for hours, another I had seen when the worst of my negativity was exuding, and I marched in vexation right past him on the street. He was a man in his 70's begging for change on the corner. I spent the rest of my night wondering aimlessly in the freezing foggy rain, having given up on finding a place to claim solace for the night. I thought deeply about the things I had seen that night, and became helplessly furious at the rampant waste that I see everywhere. I thought about the Army missile technician that had picked me up two days earlier, and how he had revealed to me in prideful fashion the price tag for each missile he made, $1.2 million. These were subsequently shipped off daily, in the thousands to the middle east, and fired in our futile struggle, for another selfish foothold in the East. I thought about the freedoms that I see slowly slipping from the hands of what was once the freest country in the world. Why? because people don't care. Pure lazyness! I thought about the 18 year old kids that pass me on the freeway daily, in their brand new 30k trucks, and flip me the bird in pure ignorance. Why? because im doing something other than play video games. That night I vented in solitude at injustice, and recommitted to standing up for these things every chance I was given. The next morning, although more tired than I can accurately express, due to the fact that, even as I sit here writing this, I still feel a deep drag lingering.Yet that day I was somehow happy, happy to have a new day to work with My anger had subsided, and I was able to see where my negativity had taken me. It was now a balmy 57*, and not raining! This new day of semi sun, and a return to serenity, also brought a Couch surfing reply, a free spaghetti dinner, four new friends, and a ride out of town from a particularly talkative, and wise Franciscan monk, that adamantly honored, and adhered to in the same blind trust that I was currently waist deep exploring. In a desire to perpetuate the bond of common beliefs between us, he stuffed a five dollar bill in my pocket as I jumped out of the car. I was now in Oregon.

"Faces in the forest" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Divine Sequencing"

2008-09-04T19:15:00Z

I could not have conjured a more poetic script for the last 5 days of my life. The degree to which the energy of the universe touched me, was one, of only two such moments I have ever experienced such real power in my time. While the traditionally dominant realist within wanted to sum it up practically, as a random sequence of events. The routinely quiet, and subservient spiritual side of me was proclaiming the obvious.... This is real, and tangible, right now, not yesterday or yesteryear, right now. PAY ATTENTION! So I did, good boy. Having just spent the better part of a week resting my battered body, in the bay area. I was dropped of in a little hidden gem known as Petaluma Ca, The drop off felt allot like the first day all over again. There I was standing in the middle of a relatively large town, the sun was quickly slipping away, I new nobody, and a tinge of fear had again began to creep in the reaches of my gut. I thought to myself...Mike you have got to learn, once and for all to just trust. Trust in your mission , trust in your instincts, And trust in your tools. I hauled myself, and entourage of gear to a local cafe, pulled out my laptop and checked my Couch surfing profile to see if anyone had replied to my request for free lodging in Petaluma. Ahh instant relief, Neil a local Petaluma jazz musician had replied, and left a phone# for me to call. I quickly called him, and was retrieved, thankfully from my now dark, and cold Petaluma street corner. My time with Neil was a nice calm before what I had firmly decided, was going to be a flurry of speedy hitchhiking to come. I had began to feel a little bit behind schedule... I know, im not on a schedule! Hard to break some of these habits. Neil dropped me off on the road to the coast, at around 9am the next morning fully rested, fed, and feeling recommitted to my reality. I was quickly picked up on the outskirts of Petaluma, and driven to highway 1, which runs alongside the coast, almost all the way through California, and Oregon. I had been quite excited to experience this road, and its people, the tales of great hitching, glorious camp sites, and friendly authorities, are endless along this stretch.

I find myself for the first time on this trip surrounded by absolutely nothing, no businesses, no people, and only an occasional car passing me, with friendly nods of approval and thumb and forefinger pinched in an effort to show how far they were going. The spot I had been delivered too overlooked a twisted coastal road set atop jagged black cliffs that protect the towns above from the sometimes erratic Pacific Ocean. I took my time and fully engaged my new surroundings, finding the best spot with a view to catch a ride from, and then I posted up, "North." As I sat there In the splendor of the ocean, I eventually looked down in sulking fashion to play with the dirt at my heels, and realized I was right on top of a perfectly intact eagle feather. I picked it up, held it in the sun light, and thought...Surely this is a sign of good things to come. When I had finally disengaged the feather, I looked up to see a truck had pulled up beside me. A beautiful blond cowgirl was telling me how she was only going 2 miles up the road, and if I wanted I could jump in. The stimulation of the feather, the girl, and the potential ride embarrassingly sent me into stupid mode, I stuttered... Ahhh, Ummm, Ahhhh, Ok. It is important to note that it is almost always a really bad idea to accept short rides, but I swear, after I had regained enough composure to respond intelligently, I had an instinctual response within, to take the ride... and I followed it. After the usual formalities, I asked the obvious... What are you doing out here? Sheila began to describe her volunteer involvement at a "Equine Guided Education" program at a 1000 acre ranch down the road. We discussed the details of both our lives for a time, and we both knew almost simultaneously, and without a doubt why we had met. I offered to do some interviews and shoot some quick footage of their interactions with a group of inner city youth that had been driven up from San Fransisco. Right about this time Sheila realized that she had driven quite a bit further than the previously agreed 2 miles. No matter, the new plan was to turn South, and head for the ranch...Wrong direction Mike! So much for my flurry of speedy hitchhiking up the coast to make up for lost time. About 20 minutes after meeting Sheila I find myself standing on the stunning Medicine Horse Ranch, doing a relaxed form of an interview with owner/director Alyssa Aubrey. In all honesty I thought it would be pretty far fetched for Alyssa to allow a guy literally just picked off the road to come in and film her, and a group of teenagers interacting with the 5 or so horses. It wouldn't hurt to try though. Alyssa had an intense energy that surrounded her as she spoke,as if she didn't need to speak with me to know my character. We talked about her life long love of horses, and her belief that I had been sent there for a very specific reason. Of course I felt the exact same way, and couldn't wait to actually see, and film the work that she spoke so lovingly about. For the next three days I was allowed full privileges on the ranch, I filmed the full process of growth in three distinct stages within each teenager. The girls went through these stages of sensitivity training with the horses, and then Alyssa would insert a pow wow session in between to discuss the experiences, results and then a final prep for the next stage. Lesson one, horses can detect the slightest hint of fear, anxiety, or tension, and they respond accordingly as they directly mirror the energy being put out by their handler. I could see this occuring without question as most of the girls entered the arena with very prevalent expressions of fear exuding, as you would expect from your average city bound teenager.The horses responded to this without hesitation, horses resist negative energy intensely. Lesson two, confidence building, I witnessed as each girl did their very best not to put out fearful vibes, many of them failing in the task, readjusting, and trying again until they eventually succeeded with proper coaching, and relaxation techniques. Lesson three, living full speed with their new found confidences, each girl was presented with tasks that would cause even the most composed among us to put out stressful energy. In the end, I witnessed as each youth was morphed from fearful, crawling, infancy to upright full speed, vessels of confidence wielding young ladies. All in three days! Alas in Alyssa's own words, what if I had the ability to give them more time? Where would they be then?
My evenings were equally enjoyable, they consisted of me being picked up by Sheila the original "ride giver" and driven all over Marin county in search of the best local music, beer, and sights. We shared many conversations on life, the meaning of, and other daunting, seemingly unanswerable questions. Sheila another, in a long line of people I have met on the road that was in a state of major flux, was volunteering at the ranch in hopes of finding something more meaningful in life. Sheila had it all the house, the husband, the status the money etc etc. Yet it was lacking something, a sense of reality. In her own words, she was escaping her perfect little life in a box, to "shovel shit" at the ranch. This gave her a peace, a sense of simplicity that was much more meaningful to her, than all the typical checklist items she had already acquired. Something I understand all to well. Sheila was completely aware that something was wrong with the picture she had created over the years. Beautiful, and sparkling on the outside, but tumultuous on the in. These were a few of her epiphanies, that im sure she would want me to send out to the world; The standards of perfection that we have set for ourselves as a society are completely unreachable for the vast majority of us. Of course this doesn't stop us from working ourselves silly trying to attain the illusion. Even those of us, like Sheila who have actually reached the upper echelon of that standard quickly realize their is not necessarily a blissful state of awe to be had once you have arrived. What you do get, often consists of wasted years, trying to reach a meaningless position of fat pockets, broken relationships, lost time, and regret. A congratulations is due the untold numbers of you out their that are resisting this wasteful theory of perfection, and have entered onto a path of rejection. Rejection of a status quo that often brings with it lasting lessons in futility. It takes courage to step out there, to do something different, like shoveling shit for fun? Dont knock it till you try it folks! To do these things will often bring with it considerable rejection from your peers, that want you to continue reaching out with them to this blind bliss. But enough of that. I could go on forever about my interactions at the ranch. The time was true, and a meaningful experience to me for so many reasons, but I will resist the urge to ramble even more, I have to save something for final production. My time was up, to cap things off, I was driven North to a small town that consisted primarily of a seafood restaurant, where I was graciously fed by Alyssa and partner Gary along with a few drinks, and some stimulating conversation. They set me let loose on a gorgeous beach that im told they shot the movie "birds,"on.
I found a hollow nook in the cliffs, and set up my tent in defiance of the no camping sign nearby and enjoyed what I would have to call the most Beautiful sunset I have ever seen. In the morning I worked through my routine of coffee, breakfast, push ups, ocean bath, and hike to the road. I had barely put my bag down when a motorcycle pulls up, and low and behold its Neil, my C.S host from Petaluma. He wants to know why im not in Oregon yet? All I could do was laugh, and ramble out my best quick rendition of the last three days. We shared a laugh or two and Neil took off down the road much as I had four days earlier at his house. I sat on the side of the road that morning, and marveled at how blessed I been these last few days...surely this cannot continue at the same pace. About fifteen minutes into that thought, 500 or so, charged surfers had converged on the very spot I was using as a hitching post. Appearing from nowhere almost simultaneously. Apparently one of these groups out of 500 was thinking the very same thing I was... Way to many people! As they pulled out of the parking lot to go North in search of better waves, on less crowded beaches. This crew of two gave me a kind look and said... jump in dude! I did, and there I was, off again. The guys were both 18, recent high school graduates, that had decided to do something other than immediately attend secondary school. What could possibly be more important than school you might ask? Catching waves of course! But before you judge their decision to harshly, you should listen to their well thought out answers to why? I spent the day filming surf video, interviews, and afterwards was treated to some very fine Indian cuisine by the two young surfers. In my time with the surfers I found myself thinking...Why are these two guys obviously young, and most likely strapped for cash driving me around, buying me lunch etc etc? My honest opinion was that they related allot to what I was doing. At a point in there lives where allot of big decisions were about to be made regarding their futures, I think they found some solice in the fact that I, a young person also, was actively rejecting that which they were about to enter into. With there opportunity to send a message on camera, they revealed to me their frustrations about entering an obviously flawed college system, that they felt was completely broken. A system that puts more emphasis on partying, fun, and frivolity than it did education. They felt strongly that even if they were to enter it, and succeed at ignoring the distractions, they would likely walk away from their college experiences with sub par, force fed educations, not to mention a pile of debt. Again a problem that I could relate to personally. We spent some time talking about how complaining was not the answer. How do we fix this? among many other daunting problems that face our country, and more specificly the youth that are charged with fixing the mess? It is one thing to complain, It is another thing entirely to act out in defiance of this sad, status quo. When one does so, does it make a difference? In truth, Im still trying to figure that one out for myself, the opposition is powerful, and much more experienced at quelling these frustrations with illusions of justice. How can any one of us make a difference? I think that it goes something like this. Cliche, but true...Become the change, that you want to see. Just do it! Your example will attract others of like mind, all with different powers, and skills sets. From this pool of talents a proper organizer should emerge, now this collective ball of energy has the ability to create momentous change. Before the boys dropped me at the next town North. I thought to myself... that was a kind of serious way to end our interaction with one another, but I quickly reminded myself of how things always happen a certain way, and for a reason. Maybe those simple words will play a role in their future, or mine.
This was the end of my great sequences, I hope I did them justice. The greatness of the story lies with the beauty of the characters as they behaved in the face of a total stranger, the stark contrasts, situation to situation, and the interconnectivity between the medium, that was me. It all just flowed perfectly, and I am positive that the story has yet to have reached its true ending with this group of self proclaimed misfits.
The medicine horse ranch is a nonprofit resource available to all interested parties. If you are interested in becoming either a participant, or a sponsor of this amazing teaching technique please visit, www.horsesenseforteens.com or call Alyssa @1-707-878-2440

"Divine Sequencing" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Music"

2008-06-18T00:13:26Z

Music, such a simple, yet profoundly complex formula of movements, the movements resulting sounds, and the end result of life changing effects that can occur, within a patient listener. Music has always had a profound, and special influence on pretty much everything I have ever experienced in my life. Sometimes it drives me forward, other times it holds me back, and it almost always does a beautiful job of accentuating my life path. When I first set out on this expedition, I had notably high expectations of how I would include music in every nook, crack, and cranny of this project. But as we all know the cards rarely fall perfectly in all situations, and that was the case prior to my time with Michelle. I was again reminded of how all things happen in good time and for a reason. A chronically happy soul, mother and drummer supreme, Michelle was always sporting a giant smile, and I immediately felt the music of life flowing through this person. Was I ever right on that note."No pun intended." Amongst many great moments that were shared sitting around the outdoor fireplace, discussing life, music, and the pursuit of happiness. Their were a few adventures that we shared that I will absolutely never forget, because they will quite possibly have an enlightening effect on the remainder my life. Although I am a lover all things music, I have always understood that their is a quality gap that exists between most of us appreciative listeners, and the artists that create the sounds. Not having grown up in a musical family, and having never been pushed to release my creative side in such away, I had become quite content to sit on the sidelines and just be thankful for the creative abilities that I did have. I had never seriously entertained the idea of joining the ranks of sound makers, but Michelle had decided that the sidelines should not be my fate. Against my humble protests, she made me accompany her to the local music store so that she and I, could pick out a very shiny, and very sweet sounding harp. Otherwise known as a harmonica. I cant even describe the feeling I get when I begin to make sounds with my new best friend, something like going to another world, a true escape, and I cannot wait for the day that I can actually make nice sounds, that others can enjoy. Until then you will just have to bare with my racket. Suprisingly this was only the beginning of my exploration into new music with Michelle, later I was given drum lessons by the expert herself, and then taken out on the town to hear the best of what Concord California had to offer in the way of Blues, Jazz, and Rock. Man, what a time I am having! I know I wont be forgetting this one. Again I parted ways with Michelle, and her son Ryan, knowing that yet another great new friendship had just been born.

"Music" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Hamburger Feet"

2008-06-17T23:52:37Z

The timing could not have been better, at the exact moment that I had come within reasonable pickup distance from my brother Joel's house in Alameda, my feet had reached a level of deterioration I can only describe as, "hamburger feet." Yes that means blood, peeling, pus and bruising. Regardless I could not help but feel supremely satisfied with the accomplishments of the week prior, my brain was telling me... its all good keep going with it, experience as much as you can before you head North again. But my body was singing a very different tune, stop, Stop, STOP DAMMIT! Unable to argue with a voice that obnoxious I stopped. I shot my brother Joel an email, and presto im living slow, and easy again. First thing to strike a chord, in my now, very relaxed state, was the contrasting environment. I had already become quite comfortable living on nothing, and bouncing around moment to moment. But within a matter of 15 minutes from sending my email, my brother an aspiring brew master, and his 7 months pregnant wife Chantel were treating me to what tasted like the food of kings, and a some very, very fresh brew. I was overcome with a feeling of heart felt gratitude. This forced me to ponder deeply something that has been on my heart from the start... Im traveling the world living on kindness,hoping that people will let their guards down long enough to buy in to the message, but I sure feel like I am doing allot of "taking" from my hosts. This is really not the message I want to send to people. What can I do reciprocate all of this kindness? So right there... I made a pact with myself, to make everything I have to give, available to every single person that I meet. "So to any future hosts that might be reading this in anticipation of my arrival. Take note, and please allow me the opportunity to give back, I really want to!" After a couple of slow days with Joel and Chantel, I was kindly passed along to another relative that lived further North, and had agreed to let me continue my recovery at her house. She had also promised to tour me around her neck of the woods to get a taste of the local music scene. I cant wait!

"Hamburger Feet" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Misfit Utopia"

2008-06-17T00:08:21Z

Call it what you like. A haven for misguided, over educated, secular progressives. Or... a place to come if you, have a desire to live, say, or act out, in any way you want without incessant harassment by the powers that be. While I completely understand why many people would fear the diverse lifestyle that is very much "in your face" here. I cant think of a place that I have been in the United States that embraces true freedom to the degree that the Bay area does. I have spent the last week exploring as many sub cultures as I could possibly make time for, and no they were not all hippie, non conformist clubs. Some were Christian fundamentalists, community leaders, and just "normal every day people." I have been pleasantly surprised as my notions of where our country is headed as a whole slowly began to disintegrate, even if only for a couple of days. My hope was partially revived as I interviewed person after person from all walks of life that believed in uncompromising freedom for all, Peace, and a sustainable future for our world. I was even more surprised by the sheer number of people I spoke with, that were actively involved on one front or another, walking their talk. Good job San Fransisco. My time hear can be summed up with one word "Kindness." I was confronted on every corner of this massive city by people that wanted to know what I was doing, and if I needed any help? My usual response was "yes" if you are interested I would like to talk to you about some things on camera? This usually led to a walk, either to the home of the participant, or a park or cafe where relative silence could be had for the interview. On one such occasion I was taken to a large park filled with about 1000 happy people playing frisbee, barbecuing, just sitting around talking and enjoying the perfect 80* weather. I watched and filmed in amazement, as a large bus filled with costumed people pulled up to the park. The group piled out, lined up, and proceeded to run circles through the park, singing songs, dancing and playing games with the stunned summer crowd. While I could describe what I was seeing in many different ways, I think the way I felt would paint a much better picture. I was feeling happy, yeah just completely happy. I stood there with the biggest smile that I could manage, and watched as these costumed marauders put a smile on every single face in that park. Later that day, I interviewed a progressive preacher from Berkeley along with some of the flock, three nudists riding for the environment in San Fransisco, and a couple of gangsters in Oakland trying to "keep it real." My time in this city was special, maybe I just hit it on a good day, maybe it was because I was carrying around a huge camera, or the bright yellow sign on my back.But I like to think that this was a sort of diverse mecca for people actively trying to involve themselves in a beautiful world filled with interesting, kind and creative people.

"Misfit Utopia" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"The kid"

2008-06-17T21:24:24Z

Hitching out of Irvine was not an easy task, it is difficult to describe the feeling that overcomes you as 100's of 1000's of frantic, flustered, and chronically frustrated drivers pass you by in the heat of the day, pretending to busy themselves with changing the radio station, and refusing to make eye contact. Something like being invisible, it gets to a point if you wait long enough, that you really do wonder, can these people see me? Then you remind yourself that it is absurd to think such thoughts and the whole thing becomes funny. I laugh out loud and try to send out a smile, and some positive energy. About 5 hours into my character building session, a teenager pulls off on the shoulder and looks at me franticly as if to say... hurry up get in the car. He looks absolutely harmless, so I skip the formalities, like where are you headed, and is it ok if I film you? I throw my enormous bag in his back seat, and jump in. It turns out the kid is from Texas, and is headed all the way to San Fransisco. I am immediately reminded of how good things throughout my entire life, have consistently sprouted from the worst of situations , and I make a mental note never to despair about catching a ride again. 3 hour's into the trip we had completely dissected the kids entire life, he was a recent high school graduate from a private school, and the sole child of two intellectuals that desperately wanted to send him East to attend a prestigious ivy league school. He had some very different thoughts though, He claimed that in a rebellious fervor he had built a small empire dealing marijuana back in Texas, and was currently headed to San Fransisco to meet with his supplier. I quickly wrote this comment off, and assumed it was complete braggadocio. This kid probably thought that any respectable hitchhiker would be impressed with his sense of all things worldly, and had thusly concocted this story to gain my approval. Regardless of my doubts of his sincerity we reached San Fransisco both of us feeling as though we had made a new friend in the world. He was quick to offer up the couch in his large hotel room at the Hilton, I said thanks, and he said I will be right back, I have to meet somebody down the street . I gratefully laid down my gear in the plush hotel room, and quickly fell asleep. 1 hour later the door opens, and my host stumbles through the door,shoulders slumped, tears in his eyes as he falls on the hotel bed in child like fashion. By the time the poor kid pulled himself together, and had built up the courage to speak, I was all ears. With wet eyes, and a quivering lip, he softly stated, I just lost $90,000........... Any part of me that had doubted this kids initial sincerity flew out the window. I have seen the look of true desperation before, both in my own life, and in the faces of suffering people all over the world, it is not a look that is easily manufactured. The story went like this.....Kid walks down the street to meet his contact, ignorantly leaves his bag in contacts car, goes in to a restaurant for five minutes. When they come out all the cars on the street had their windows broken, and personal effects stolen, Kids scarred to death because an official exchange never took place. I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to help this guy, he clearly had no business in this lifestyle, and had the rare gift of being born surrounded by love,intelligence,and money. I had already spent some time counseling him from afar in the car, regarding his decisions to abandon his family in pursuit of a career in drugs, but he needed some well thought out guidance. At this unique juncture I thought he might actually listen to me, so I made a rare decision to operate against my instincts, and I spent the night in the Hilton, went to breakfast with the kid, and unloaded some carefully worded advice his way before I said goodbye. An interesting start to the my Bay area adventures.

"The kid" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"California Sun, Finally"

2008-06-17T22:03:11Z

I jumped off the train around 12am, and thought to myself, I had better get a good sleep and quickly found myself a spot in the dirt and crashed. The next morning I awoke to a smattering of rain, quickly packed up my gear, and found a nice little cafe in the train lounge that I camped beside the night before. This is where I began my search for the Skinner family. The Skinners are related to some good friends of mine back in Boise, Idaho, and I was really looking forward to meeting them. I quickly found Heather online, and she agreed to pick me up at her earliest convenience. To this point in my journey, most of my interactions with people had spawned out of either random meetings on the street, or people that had simply opened their couches for me to sleep on. So this meeting with the Skinners was special, here was a family of four that had completely sold out, to the idea of bringing me, a dirty traveling stranger into their highly structured world. This was a family that was constantly on the run, living a very busy life juggling school, kids activities, work and home life. I thought to myself initially, where am I going to fit into this? Where indeed, I almost immediately fell into the roll of the new fifth family member. I was fed, my wounds cleaned, entertained, and given a much needed nights sleep. More importantly I was exposed to a family that genuinely cared for a complete strangers wellbeing, and went all out to make sure that I experienced the best that Southern California had to offer. Day one began with a dinner at a local wing joint where I was treated to a spicy pre game meal with a beer, my first in weeks, soooo good! I was then treated to a baseball game featuring their son who hit a nice double in the bottom of the fourth,as I recall. Day two I was dropped of in the Newport beach area with a lunch and directions on what to do and where to go. I found a gorgeous beach, and spent my day swimming, sunning, and exploring the many beaches and harbors in the area. So my two days were up, I was driven to and dropped of at the very same spot I had been picked up two days earlier by Heather, we parted this time with a hug, and each of us the excitement of having made a new friend. While the Southern California sun had treated me well, I new my feet in particular were begging me for an extended rest, my soul for the smell of a forest, and my mind for a few less people. I threw on my backpack trudged my blistered feet to the nearest freeway exit I could find, and put up my sign that read simply, San Fransisco.

"California Sun, Finally" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"Train hopping"

2008-06-17T17:48:28Z

Now things are getting interesting. The big city in front of me, 80 pounds of gear on me, and approximately 29950 miles in front of me. My contact from C.S. tells me that I am welcome for 1 night on a very soft couch that resides in a small loft overlooking the San Diego harbor. I am more than happy to take her up on that one, I now know without a doubt, that all the training in the world would never have prepared me for 80 pounds, 24 hours a day. My feet are killin me! After brief nights sleep I awoke to the aroma of coffee, and soft music coming from inside Jenines small kitchen. I was kindly provided a cup of strong coffee,toast, and an apple. I ate my breakfast as quickly as I could, and was sent on my way with instructions on how to find the most likely spot to hitch a boat ride. After about 3 hrs of city hiking, and plenty of less than enthusiastic welcomes at local marinas, I locked eyes with a local panhandler who was running back and forth on a bustling two lane road, enthusiastically trying to get attention with a sign that said "SMILE". It seemed to be working for him, as the endless lines of cars passed him, it was rare that a driver wouldn't be smiling. I thought to myself... this guy would be fun to talk to.We talked for about 30 minutes about why he was out there doing what he was doing, how he liked San Diego, and then he asked what I was doing? I told him, and he told me how tough hitching anywhere between San Diego and the bay area was. Of course my previous experience the day before had already clued me in. I asked him if he had any other suggestions? He enthusiastically stated "you could hop a freight!" I said sure. He said where, and how. Next thing I know im poised behind some bushes waiting for the next freight to roll by. Not quite sure if this little plan was going to work out, I made the decision to give it my very best effort. If I failed at least I could say I tried. As I waited in the bushes next to a bend in the track I realized that they looked as if GOD himself had placed them specifically for train hoppers. Im sure I wasn't the first to do this, nor would I be the last. I watched as the train slowed itself down to a crawl through the station...Only about one hundred yards down the track I waited in stealth laughing to myself about what I was about to do. When the moment came I let every ounce of adrenaline in my body spring forth as I attempted to run with 80 pounds on my back in pursuit of a train that was now speeding up again. I grabbed a rail, and jumped, hoping that at least one of my feet would land on the platform I was aiming for. Luckily one foot made it, I pulled the rest of my weight up, took a look around to make sure I was alone and fell to the platform floor in complete exhaustion. It was difficult to know where to get off at, so again I simply hoped that I would be blessed with a safe place to jump off and camp unnoticed. I was fortunate in my choice, I jumped off about 5 minutes before Irvine California where I had a solid nearby contact. I walked next to the track until I found a nice flat spot to lay down for the night. Sleeeeepy time!

"Train hopping" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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"It Begins"

2008-09-28T01:24:26Z

As it all begins to sink in, and the doubt and fear begin to creep into my stomach.... I think to myself, Wait one minute you have been here before... you know what happens next, and it is true, I do know. You either give in to that part of you that thinks, it sure would be nice if you were at home watching a movie, eating some popcorn, and preparing your mind for the next days work. Or you refocus, readjust and remind yourself that there is a damn good reason for me to be out here. I never did like that job, that movie I would have been watching probably had the exact same outline as 5 other movies I have seen this year, and don't even get me started on that popcorn in all of its toxic microwavable glory. Im here! I want to be here! Ahhh, nothing like coming to terms with fear. Now where am i going? North. I take a long hard look North, and as far as the eye can see roads, interchanges, off ramps, lines of cars as long as ten football fields. Damn that popcorn is starting to sound good again! Ok you remember how it goes, you write up a witty sign, stick it out like you mean it aaand, wait! So 2hrs into the wait a kind soul who looks like an x hitcher rolls down his window, reaches out as far as he can and says, hey here's 3 bucks, the light rail will take you into San Diego. Thank you Jesus! I am out of here.

"It Begins" remains copyright of the author dirtymule, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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