On Yesterday

Today, I have spent two decades on this rock that we all call home. Continuing with that analogy, it is a shame that so many roommates share this home and not only do most of them never even find time to see all the various rooms of the home, but our time as roommates is spent bickering. Either way, today is my twentieth birthday.

For my birthday, I am practicing the same reasoning behind a Fat Tuesday celebration. Being fully aware that you are going to spend the following time without a certain something, you indulge in it to get your fill ahead of time. Because of not having a laptop for the first part of this second endeavor, I will not be staying with hosts from CouchSurfing as much and so a day where I just sit back on a couch with newfound friends and smoke during episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer intertwined with time spent dismembering creatures aboard the Ishimura, a floating intergalactic vessel (or rather, playing Dead Space on the XBOX360). I will be here for the next week or so though, to attend a party at the house of the Denton hosts that invited me to stay with them previously. It seems all of them are moving out of their house locally known as the Bordello (which is Spanish for "male whorehouse"), and I offered to clean the Black Lagoon (otherwise known as their clogged bathtub; a shower where you expect Jeff Goldblum to rise out of the murky water behind you and smile before he takes you under to his underwater chambers) to thank them for letting me stay last time, and as an incentive for getting a place to stay this time as I pass through.

I'm not sure why I associate Jeff Goldblum with stalking you from his watery lair in the Bordello Black Lagoon, but the thought of it just seems frightening; an alternative being Willem Dafoe. Nobody really wants to find him lurking in their clogged bathtub, I would assume.

But no more of the randomness, for I have a day to tell of-

I left about three from College Station and headed towards Dallas; though I don't usually concern myself with time, Alex was throwing a bit of a party for my birthday and so time became a concern. However, there was one other initial concern that remained on my mind since I left directly from College Station. It seems the Kodiak managed to obtain an arrest warrant while he lived in College Station (calm down, dearies, it was only for an outstanding traffic violation; a traffic violation so remarkable that all the witness just sat around in awe and said "Outstanding!" in unison as if they were a heavenly choir) and since I had been pulled over by an officer of the law twice before, I knew that if I was pulled over in College Station that I would be postponing my current venture by about a week or so as I spent time in a county jail.

In order to possibly avoid any trouble, I tried to find some other activity so that I could use it as an alibi to tell an officer if I encountered one. I chose sitting on the rail of a small bridge and reading an issue of Rolling Stone (remember the one with Bob Dylan on the cover from the last blog? I am loving all this continuity in everything now) because that is something that doesn't look conspicuous at all. I mean, why read Rolling Stone in the comfort of your own home when you can read it on a bridge on the outside of town and be surrounded by blistering heat and traffic? Yeah, I was sure a cop would believe that reasoning.

Fortunately, my first ride of the day came before the flashing lights and sirens did. He was going to a graduation party in Tyler and the route he was taking would get me about an hour and a half closer to Dallas, so I rode with him. This is so terrible, I can't remember his name, but he had a dog in the backseat of his truck named Avery. I suppose the dog must've had more of a personality worth remembering the name associated with it.

Not really, he was a decent man, I suppose. He challenged and defied his appointed stereotype and I really loved that. He had a Southern accent and loved country music and was generally a country boy all around; and yet mentioned how he hated Fox News and how he studies different religions to keep an open mind about everything. Also, he turned me on to a newfound country singer that I actually like a little; Eric Church. He reminds me of the old country singers, singing about something that most people that listen can relate to and he has a certain Southern charm that just bleeds out through his music.

He dropped me off in Buffalo, and so I got near an on-ramp and started again, even more worried now about the time now. I tried to put it all out of my mind, and just so I didn't get hassled (even though I was out of Brazos County and didn't need to worry about the warrant), I still tried to keep an activity going. I started grooving to my trusty old iPod, and let the time pass as it happened. Eventually, I started singing a little which wouldn't have been a problem if I wasn't listening to "Pretty Fly For A White Guy" when I started.

You have no idea what kind of looks you get when you sing 'Give it to me baby, uh-huh, uh-huh' in a faux seductive female voice, certainly not looks of "I'm gonna' give that feller there a ride." so I decided to hold off on the singing for that particular moment.

At first, I thought the on-ramp didn't make much sense for hitchhiking; much less traffic and more likely than not, the people are only driving a shorter distance. After my first day back on the road, I've become the on-ramp's bitch though. Sure, there is less traffic, but that works out to your advantage considering that drivers know that there isn't much traffic either which gives them more reason to pick you up. Nevermind the fact that on most of the on-ramps I was hitchhiking on that first day, people had to slow down to nearly a crawl to get on so I had time to make eye contact with them, which almost always helps.

But after some amount of time, I was picked up by a shorter man in a silver glimmering cowboy hat that drove me to the next town about twenty miles ahead, called Fairfield. There isn't much to say about this ride really, we didn't talk much as he didn't speak much English but he was still a very outgoing man. Also, if there is ever a religion started for his silver glimmering cowboy hat (which I have named Russell; the silver glimmering cowboy hat, that is), somebody please let me know so I can give all glory to it.

Upon entering Fairfield, I saw a stand selling homegrown peaches and thought about that ideal of the lone weary hitchhiker, tired and starved after a day of travel, eating a homegrown peach on the side of the road that he bought from a stand in a small town. I thought that sounded great, so I worked on getting myself tired, starved, and weary while I walked over to buy one.

Only to find out they only sold them in containers of varying capacity, all of which would be too large for me to carry around. She couldn't make an exception, but she offered her smallest container of peaches to me again. That wasn't enough to fix her ruining my dream though; now I was just a hitchhiker that wasn't too weary or tired and maybe a little starved that attempted to buy a homegrown peach but got shut down by the woman running the peach stand.

Well, I headed out to the on-ramp and it wasn't five minutes before a white sport utility vehicle pulled up and offered me a ride to Corsicana, which was about an hour away from Dallas. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if I was even going to make the party or just arrive on his doorstep in the early hours of the morning, but obviously I took the ride. You just have to appreciate a ride that is filled with interesting firsts. The first time a newer sport utility vehicle picked me up (probably the newest car I had ever rode in, actually), the first time you rode with somebody who was drinking while driving (because it isn't enough just to drink then drive, you really have to go the distance sometimes), and the first ride to do a third thing. Sorry, that is about all I have on him. He did offer me a meal if I wanted it, and I wouldn't have turned him down but I was concerned about time again.

Corsicana. Ah, Corsicana. I was in there for about another five minutes before my next ride came, and didn't really notice anything too interesting in the five minutes I was there, so we can move on.

Now, there was a worse dilemma coming up. All of my rides at that point had just been taking me one or two towns up the road for the most part; which wasn't a problem up until then but it seems that a town coming up had a prison there and for both it and the next town close to it, there were signs warning people to not pick up hitchhikers in the area because they may be escaped convicts. If I didn't get a straight shot into Dallas with my next ride, I would most likely end up stuck in one of those towns.

Well, count it all joy, my brethren. Not only did it take about five minutes again to get a ride and not only were they outgoing and friendly people and not only did they smoke me out in their car and not only did they invite me back to their place if I didn't already have a party to go to and not only did they drive straight into Dallas and not only did they drive to Good Records which is a great locally owned record store, but they also drove me to where Alex could meet up with me so I didn't have to walk across town to reach him; all of which got me in Dallas in time for the party.

Such a good day to start back on the roads.

Regards from the Kodiak.

To Go Back To Where I Was Would Just Be Wrong, I'm Pressing On

It has been a long time, brothers and sisters. I'll take a little bit to tell you about where I have been between then and now but not too long; today is a beautiful day, and I'm ready to get out and see it.



First, trying to leave Oklahoma City turned out to be a story all by itself; it seemed nearly impossible. I spent most of my first day walking along a toll interstate, blatantly ignoring the large signs that I passed telling me that it was illegal for pedestrians to walk along a toll highway. I really hadn't had much trouble getting a ride in Texas, so I assumed I would have had someone stop soon enough so I wouldn't have to be concerned with the fact that I was illegally walking down the toll road.



Stupid Oklahoma.



Seven hours I walked; and what happened after those seven hours (during which I decided not to worry about filling up any water bottles because I assumed too much) isn't much better. An officer of the law came up and turned on his lights and sirens when approaching me. How serious of a threat am I, really? I don't think whatever "kid walking down the road" in police numerical code really calls for lights and sirens. I liken this situation to a health inspector checking that a child's lemonade stand has a permit to operate; at that point, you're really just taking your job way too seriously, calm down.



Either way, considering that a few people I know of might be reading this will be looking for instruction and advice, let this be a moment to stop to talk of our men in blue. From what I have learned, it is going to happen; you'll be pulled over by someone that will more often than not remind you of a Sheriff Rosco Coltrane archetype. Now, this could be seen as an unfavorable situation from a commonly shared perspective, but even moreso for my hitchhiking brethren that are more likely to carry along a little something for their peace pipe with them. But despite any reason you may have, treat the officer with the utmost respect; usually ass-kissing is easily noticeable and frowned upon but in this particular case, lay it on thick. I've been stopped by three cops so far and each time, puckering up just tends to get me out of trouble.



The officer searched me and ran my name in his computer, then had me stand with my hands behind my back as he loaded my backpack and sleeping bag into his trunk. Yeah, because I could wait until the opportune moment and lunge my sleeping bag at him and start running-until five minutes later, when he would've caught up with me in his car. But he ended up giving me a ride to a nearby truck stop that happened to be back in Oklahoma City, at which point I was beginning to play with the possibility of being trapped in this town and after a slightly frustrating day, I determined not to get caught in the wicked little web of Oklahoma City any longer.



That explains why I was stuck there for four more days.



Apparently, no truckers head eastward anymore; "Fuck east, west is the new east" would appear to be the general consensus. The only trucker I could find headed that direction was going to Ohio which would've been a great start on my way to Maryland, so I decided to wait for him to leave. Unfortunately, that took a few days of him trying to find out about the load he was going to be picking up which meant a few days for me making that little slice of Oklahoma City my temporary stomping grounds. Mainly, that just meant spending a few days listening to truckers provide commentary on whatever movie was playing in the lounge; which isn't near as bad as it sounds.

But after a few days, the trucker left and the ride to Ohio had begun. I was dropped off outside of Columbus by about ninety miles and that is when everything started to fall apart in front of me. I did manage to get a ride to a small town outside of Columbus where I spent the night; but after that, I found out something. There is an old addage about people from Southern regions being more outgoing; and the more time I spent in Ohio, the more that honestly seemed to be the case. That waitress that smiles at you as you eat your breakfast in IHOP, the cashier that asks how you are doing with a friendly demeanor as he hands you your change; those little gestures help out immensely with the loneliness of the road but I couldn't get so much as a smile out of anybody where I was. The only person that I was able to get to smile and laugh was the man that gave me a ride to the small town, and he was from Texas moving to Ohio.

Given that, my loneliness on the road had hit me pretty hard when I got there and that alone I could probably handle as I had before, but then I broke one of the basic understandings of hitchhiking. I hitched into a metropolis nearing sunset, knowing that I didn't have any options once I got there of getting out or getting a place to stay. My desire to keep moving had overwhelmed me and left me unprepared for the situation. It was at that point, with the loneliness and paranoia of a night-drenched city all around me that I broke down and worked up a Greyhound ticket back to my hometown temporarily.

At first, I felt ashamed of myself for giving up when it was already one in the morning, and if I could've lasted a few more hours, I would've been fine. But it seems the road is always trying to teach me that no matter where I am, there is an opportunity there to experience and learn more about myself or that place. I think I know somebody that put it much better than that though-

"There is nowhere you can be that isn't where your meant to be, it's easy."

Coming back home offered me a chance to learn more about how far I had come in the last two months, but not in the regional sense necessarily. I am more of a patient person now, I feel like I have obtained some lost spirituality within me, and I am more confident in myself as a human being. Last night, when dealing with an issue that The Clash knew a good deal about, I had my first completely self-confident thought in several years.

"Darling you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine,
I'll be here until the end of time.
So you've got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?"

I had some forbidden fruit that could potentially become a relationship and I thought about resting and resuming a normal life there in my old stomping grounds, but I begin to develop a different opinion after pondering about it a little more. What would happen when I became miserable with every faction of the life society had appointed me, save for the lovely lady by my side potentially? I would want to leave again.

"I lost my Saint Christopher whenever I kissed her..."

I had lived by that line from Tom Waits, waiting for a partner that I matched with well enough that would end my life on the road and bring me back to the aforementioned normal life. I found out last night that I don't even want what I was planning on finding; I have fallen in love with the road and she kisses me kindly. Normal life? Fuck that, I'm everweird and I couldn't be more proud.

"I don't ever want to feel like I did back then..."

There is the newest issue of Rolling Stone on the counter next to me, and I can't help but think that Bob Dylan's kindly smirk on the cover is meant specifically for me; as odd as it sounds.

I've been thinking about the tomato vines as a metaphor for spirituality lately; how the tomato cage helps to make the plant stronger but in doing so, it limits it to only a general means of growth. Denominations are the tomato cages of our spirituality, some need them to remain strong in their lives and in their faith but it patterns their growth after most members of that denomination before them. So what happens to the ones who let their spirituality develop freely and disregard the consequences of doing so?

Well, I'm a tomato vine sprawling across a wooden fence with no particular direction to grow except outward. Sometimes for some vines, nature will grow those tomatoes more ripe than any tool of man ever could. It's a sunny day and I'm looking to stretch out and grow some more.

I'm ready to start again, enough typing, let's get this show on the road.

"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life."

Regards from the Kodiak.