Done? More like just getting started.

I'm back in Coon Rapids, Minnesota, where my grandma lives and where I started this trip nearly two months ago. Lots of emotions going on upon returning to the place where I first got picked up but the primary feeling is this: good, good, fucking GOOD!

I originally planned to spend a night in Fargo, North Dakota and then return to Minnesota tomorrow but last night my CouchSurfing host and I met up with two other CouchSurfing hosts and their guest for a little around-the-world get together where I met John, a Brit heading straight for St. Paul! He offered a ride, and instead of struggling to make it four hours down the road I comfortably cruised nine and a half hours (stopping in Fargo for lunch) all the way to my grandmother's driveway!

John has been in the U.S. for a few weeks, traveling around in a rental car with a group of friends from England. His friends went back home to work, but John stuck around and is about to embark on an epic tour across the Midwest, the east coast, and eventually down south and back west. He's a smart guy with some interesting insights into the American identity (as only a sophisticated Brit could provide), and his blog is observational, satirical, and well-written. The link is www.ontheroad2012.net , check it out!

Anyway, John and I had lots to talk about on the drive to St. Paul. Turns out we hit up a lot of the same locations, just at different times. He invited me along to tour the country (again) with him in his rental car, CouchSurfing all along the way. "I'll have to dump you in Denver," he said, before adding "not that I mean to just leave you in the middle of nowhere or anything!" After hitching across the US, including through Denver, this didn't seem like a problem. I'll be in Virginia to vote in this oh so important election and it just so happens that he'll be there around the same time after hitting up Philly, Boston, NYC, and DC, so I have some time to think about whether I want to take him up on his offer and rediscover the country through the eyes of our closest ally.

For now, I'm just trying to process just what in the hell I just did with my life in the last two months. It was summer when I started and approaching winter now, however the entire experience feels like it lasted only a few days. Time just sort of blurs together when you resort back to your basic instincts. What I mean by that is that a lot of the rules of normal living don't really apply to life on the road. As Douglas Adams wrote, "time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so." You eat when you're hungry, you sleep when you're tired, and when either of those two things are difficult to obtain, you deal with it without any bullshit of what others might think of you lingering over you. Interacting with humans is a part of this. No, it's THE part of it. It seems like where once I put on a mask to display the "Adam" I wanted the world to see, now all that BS disappeared and there's just the Adam that dealt with shit as it came up. I'm a better man because of it, and it's taught me how to just be yourself in the midst of all the craziness that is the human race.

I feel good, but I don't know if I can say I feel satisfied. I still don't know what in the hell I'm going to do for a J-O-B, and I have absolutely no idea what comes next. The thing is that doesn't scare me anymore. The next step is just like making it to the destination: I'll deal with it. Some days will be good, some won't, might as well just enjoy the ride.

Ok, enough of that pretend-insightful shit. Here's what's actually next: grandma's for a few days, then Beloit, then Virginia to vote. This whole trip I never told anyone what I thought they "should" do, but I'm breaking that trend to say now to anyone who's reading: fucking VOTE. It's important.

From Virginia it's either starting all over again and taking the road trip with John (and spending the last of what little money I have), or getting a little more serious about life with a job. Or something else, who the fuck knows.

I'll post some photos and some other shit soon. Hope this didn't sound too preachy.

From Coon Rapids, signing out.

Here's a shot I liked from Montana.

Billings, Montana..again!

As my trip winds down, so seems my prospects of making it into St. Paul according to schedule. The problem with making it across the country (and into Mexico) is that you are filled with a sense of confidence about something you really have little control over. Hitchin is hitchin, and it's just as unpredictable now as it was when I first started.

Today I made it a total of seven miles, putting me just barely outside of Billings. An hour or so after the sun went down I caved and contacted my host from the night before. He was more than happy to pick me up and we resumed our conversation from the night before.

Today was simply bad luck. I actually felt pretty good throughout the day as most of the drivers gave me big friendly smiles. There was one middle finger but my reflex to give them the bird instantly back has been honed over the last two month and it didn't break my positive outlook for the day.

The sun was out, I had good music, and I sincerely believed someone would stop. In fact, two people did stop for me. One took me the seven miles that I talked about. The other driver was a lying creeper. I asked him where he was headed and he replied "east." "East on 90?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"I need to be on 94, towards North Dakota," I said.

"I'm going to North Dakota, I can get you halfway to where you need to go."

I-90 doesn't go to North Dakota...

"What town in North Dakota?"

"Um... I don't remember the name... I'll take you where you need to go."

"I'll wait for another car..."

Then I closed the door and that was that. Of the 50 to 70 cars that've stopped for me, only three have been like that guy. If anyone reading this is planning on hitching, remember to ask questions before getting in a vehicle, there are creepers out there...

So I'm stuck in Billings for an extra night but at least I have a roof over my head, a nice host, even pizza and beer. Most importantly, I'm safe and optimistic that tomorrow my luck will improve!

Signing out from Billings...again.

The cold and windy route home!

When I started this trip I had four destinations that I wanted to go to: St. Louis, Missouri, Huntsville, Texas, Loveland, Colorado, and San Francisco. I naively thought that I could be in St. Louis by day one, Texas by day two, Loveland by day four or so, then Cali by the end of the week. I thought I'd be on the road for two to three weeks tops.

It's been nearly two months since I started, and because I decided to take the northern states back that means its starting to get cold!

First hint of cold I experienced was in Oregon leaving Portland. I was heading north to a city in Washington called Spokane, which put me through the mountains. In addition to the cool mountain air, I got rained on for nearly the entire day. At first I thought that it might inspire some sympathy in the drivers but then I remembered that in any horror movie where the hitchhiker murders the family he's always standing in the rain...

I was stranded the first night, but luckily I made it far enough east to get out of the mountains and out of the rainy weather. I camped by the railroad, where it was surprisingly warm.

Fast forward to after Spokane. Billings, Montana is my new destination and it's an 8 hour drive away normally. I figured I could get stranded but I'd at least make it into Montana. Instead I made the least amount of progress I've made the during my whole trip. I got stuck in Kellogg, Idaho for the night

The trip to Kellogg was not particularly cold, but the morning that I tried to leave was. I believe the temperature was in the 40s, which wouldn't be so bad if I was out there for just a few minutes but I was stuck there for hours! After an hour and a half or so I walked to a local apparel store and bought an undershirt and gloves. Now I was in business! An off duty deputy gave me a ride out of town shortly after and the weather started to warm up.

By the time I made it into Montana the weather was improving. The sun came out a bit (forgot to mention it was cloudy) and the wind had died down. However I still had a long way to go. When I arrived in Butte Montana the sun was just starting to set. I ignored this (and my host in Billings) to watch the presidential debate at a truck stop! I had hot coffee and was able to enjoy Obama make a total ass of Romney in the comfort of a soft recliner chair in the truckers lounge!

It was close to 9pm when I left to give hitchin another go. When I stepped outside it was FREEZING! Literally, it was 37 degrees before the windchill and the wind was brutal. Even with my undershirt and gloves, I wasn't equipped for this. I got a motel for the night and watched CNN replay on a constant loop Obama's classic "could you say that a little louder, Candy?"

I slept in the next day, then went back out there. It was even colder during the day, 36 degrees plus more brutal winds. I had to hold onto my hat to keep it from flying away. Luck was on my side this time and I got a ride in 10 minutes.

Actually I got a ride in less than two minutes but he was going on another highway.

I rode with Larry, a very interesting man who recently divorced his wife after she "started menopause and went apeshit crazy." Larry was cool. He was the kind of guy who would leave for Guatemala for six months with a total stranger just to take his mind off the divorce. The ride that should've taken three and a half hours ended up taking closer to six for a few reasons.

First, Larry drove slow. He liked to take pictures of the scenery while he drove and he did so every time he saw something cool, or every 10 minutes. Also he needed to stop at a specific Wal Mart to pick up a power converter which he ordered in, but when we arrived there had been a gas leak and the store was evacuated. We waited 30 minutes for the fire department to work that out, then had customer service issues at Wal Mart for another thirty minutes...

Couple hours later a fan belt blew in the camper that we were riding in. Larry spent an hour fixing it, braving cold weather and strong winds to do it.

"I could've had it fixed in thirty minutes but my hands went fucking numb!"

Finally, we arrived in Billings where I was able to eat toasty Eggo waffles for dinner and run a load of laundry at my CouchSurfing host's house.

If all goes according to plan, which I don't expect it will, I will be back at my grandma's house in Minnesota in two days.

Oh, and I got fucking hailed on in Idaho for like, thirty seconds... Forgot about that.

Anyway, this trip is winding down for me but by no means getting less interesting in it's final days.

Hope this didn't sound too complainy. I heard some good advice from one of my drivers which was one word: "bitch."

"Bitch...you mean complain?"

"yeah, 'cause if you don't bitch then you'll bottle it up and let it all out one day by fucking beating someone up."

In all honesty the cold ain't that bad, and in a strange way I take pleasure in taking this hitchin thang to the next level. At least I have access to motels and hot coffee and whatnot. I hope none of the beat generation kids got caught in the cold all night...

From Billings, signing out.

Here's a dog with a party hat on his head.

Kids of the Beat Generation

I'll do my best not to make this a completely random outpour of my thoughts...

It's been a few days since I got stranded in Garberville, California and camped out with four individuals I originally described as dirty hippies. They were hippies, and they were dirty (physically, they had dirt all over them), and I'll admit I didn't understand why they were living their lives the way they were when I first met them. Now that I've run into more of their kind (and had time to process my interactions with them), I think I have a little more insight into their vagabond lifestyles.

In Garberville I encountered DOZENS of backpacker types (you can look up in High Times why this place attracted those types- I had no idea of the town's significance until I was dropped off there). They didn't impress me in the slightest. They smoked pot on the side of the road, they looked dirty, and once I got to talking to them I got the sense that they didn't care about anything. When I arrived in town one long-haired and dirty individual was trying to hitch right where I was suppose to be (sorry to keep using "dirty" over and over again but that's what I saw over and over again). He had no sign and looked stoned as fuck.

"It's easier with a sign man!" I said to him smiling. "Yep," he said and smiled back. I told him I'd go and have dinner now so he could have some space to hitch. I ate in a location close to the entrance ramp, and the sun started to set. By the time I finished my sandwich I could see the hitcher, as well as dozens more like him moving in waves in my direction. Some had clumped together into groups and some were walking individually. Many of them had dogs. I stood up and got my pepper spray ready, more for the dogs than the waves of potheads. I waved and said hello to a few of them. A few waved back and one said he liked my hat.

They were all moving into the forest to camp for the night, away from town. This gave me the opportunity to hitch without these freaks around, I thought.

I waited for two hours before joining these "freaks" (they're not, by the way) in camping in the forest for the night. Here's what happened in those two hours:

Lots of cars passed, none stopped. That was probably obvious. Lots of cops drove by, but none cared about me on the side of the road.

A bus, decked out with paint, bike racks, and I-don't-know-what-elses pulled up about 30 feet from me and large groups of backpackers began to congregate. I figured I should at least see where the bus was going.

I approached someone waiting to board the bus.

"Excuse me, sir... Where is this bus going?"

"What?"

"Where is this bus going?"

"uhhhh, I don't know."

Fucking brilliant...

"Thanks."

I talked to the driver, a hippie chick (with a dog) who told me the bus was going to a town in the wrong direction just 3 miles up the road. She was very nice and helpful, and, unlike her passengers, able to communicate using words.

I went back to my spot on the entrance ramp of the highway and the bus left.

Another hippie walked by, and I asked him why there were so many backpacker types around here.

Stoned, he said, "don't you know where you are man?" Then he reached into his bag and tried to give me a handful of weed. I told him I didn't want to be hitching with that.

He told me I could find his camp a few miles down the road if I needed a place to crash.

Around 10 pm I started thinking about calling it quits, when another wave started to approach.

"HAHAHA, look at this guy, where does HE think he's going to get a ride at this time?"

My sign said fucking Eureka... The way they all moved together I thought they knew each other.

"Eureka," I replied.

"HAHA, good luck with that man, ain't nobody stopping this late."

The man had a point...

I looked at a rather pretty (but still dirty) girl in the group and asked where they were headed.

"Uh, we're just going to toke up then go to sleep."

"Do you mind if I tag along?"

"I don't care."

"Awesome," and there I was, part of the wave.

"Nice hat, man," one of the hippies said to me...

I stayed close to the girl- Amber- as she was by far the least sketchy-looking of the group. The large wave broke up into smaller chunks and soon I found myself in a group of five (myself included) trekking into the moon-lit forest. I was with Amber, the loud-mouth, and two other guys (Austin and I-honestly-don't-remember).

We found a spot, and as soon as we stopped moving they packed a bowl. I talked with them while they smoked, keeping my guard up the whole time. The loud mouth talked all the time, (or tried to) telling us how he was mentally unstable and sharing his life story. He had a hard life, but it didn't take a genius to know that 99% of what was coming out of his mouth was complete BS. I believed he was insane though.

"Normal" group dynamics didn't work in this crowd. Loud-mouth (I don't remember his name) would interrupt always. Amber and I did do some talking over this, but it was hard to talk with this yahoo next to us. The other guys barely said two words, stoned out of their minds. Not-Austin claimed to have been in jail for 5 years for possession of marijuana in Idaho.

"That's rough," the group replied.

Amber was neither mentally insane nor blitzed out of her mind. I wanted to find out what the fuck she was doing here in the forest with these people but I never got the opportunity. She was beautiful and, unlike the crowd I was with, competent.

I didn't learn much about her except that she had been living on the road for two years. She was a run-away and "just can't do the whole 9 to 5 thing." Unlike her "peers" she was interested in my trip, especially the two nights I spent in Mexico. I wished the guy next to me would shut the fuck up.

The two quiet guys slept near each other, and the crazy one set up his hammock. Amber slept in her sleeping bag away from the crazy guy and I slept near her. No naughty-business ensued. I don't know how to explain but it just wasn't like that.

At the break of dawn Amber and I left without saying goodbye to anyone else. We chatted a little on the hike back to the highway, then parted ways at the entrance ramp. She was going to stick around town, not doing anything in particular...

I posted a sign that read "CLEAN" and made it out in 10 minutes, happy to turn my back on that town.

I poked fun of the hippies a lot with my drivers, but that whole experience stayed on my mind for several days. I encountered several other Beat Generation types; those who make a lifestyle of living on the road, sometimes for decades.

While it was easy for me to make fun of them I feel like I understand them better now.

"The road broke me," said one of my drivers while lighting up a fat doobie. "Just not having a home, getting stuck in places... I was on the road for six years, man... It fucking sucked."

"Why'd you do it for that long?" I asked.

"It wasn't really my choice. I just had to."

I can't imagine the circumstances that drive people to run away and live on the road for years at a time, nor do I want to. Sean, a kind Canadian who had run away at age 12 had some incredible insight:

"...when all you know are strangers you don't have any real friends...at a certain point you eventually become a stranger to yourself..."

This explains the not-caring attitude I saw in almost all of them. Tell a freight hopper that you think what they do is exciting an they'll act like it's no big deal.

Travel and adventure are two things I respect and admire about the Beat Generation. They probably have more perspective on what humanity has to offer than most people who never escape their comfort zones, but without a strong sense of self I think they're cursed to not care and cary on almost hopelessly. Ironically, I think a healthy dose of hitching, freight-hopping, and a shot of the unknown can teach you loads about yourself, giving one an even greater sense of self.

Goddammit, what am I even saying... I'm generalizing out the wazoo and that's not fair to a lot of them. I saw old men hitchhiking in pairs having a happy conversation on the side of the highway, and I've spoken to many who have come back into society from years of hitching with bold new perspectives, excited about their travels. For the most part, however, the kids I see hitching as a lifestyle don't look happy and I sense that they're only getting themselves more and more lost.

...

Wow, that was a long one... Did I mention that I got made fun of for wearing blue jeans instead of rags?

I also rode a hippy bus, met the most intelligent man on this trip so far (an Oregon rancher!) made it up to I-90, the mother road, and cleansed my soul with the spiritual properties of sage :)

Or at least cleansed my bad smell with the aroma of burning leaves, I'm not so much into that soul-cleansing shit.

As always there's way more to say, but I'm not even sure how much sense this made so I'll leave it here. Don't get the wrong idea by the tone of this post, I've been having a fantastic time and really learning lots about people and myself (more in the last two months than in the last two years of college I'd say).

Montana tomorrow. From Spokane, Washington I'm signing out!

Here's a wheelchair in the middle of a river. What I want to know is where's the little old lady?

Serendipity

Here at Powell's Books in downtown Portland. As always I have lots to share but in this post I'm just going to write about a series of coincidences that've occurred in the last two days.

I left from San Francisco and decided to take the most indirect route Portland imaginable: up the beautiful coastal drive on California 1. What is normally a 10 hour drive on the highway is closer to 15 hours on this beautifully scenic route.

Right at the beginning of route 1 I was picked up by a couple of Canadians traveling from San Fran up to British Columbia. Meredith and Chloe were very chill and I felt very fortunate to be able to experience the natural beauty around me with them.

They dropped me off in Garberville, California, a town that High Times described as one of the trimming epicenters of the country. Potheads and hippies from all over the country flocked here, making catching a ride after dark incredibly difficult for me... I'll get into the details of my camping experiences with the hippies in another post, but I'll just say that I was glad to make it out of that area at the first light the next day.

With a sign that said "CLEAN" I was able to get a ride about 50 miles up the road to Eureka, California. I grabbed breakfast, washed up, then waited about 1 hour before, low and behold, along came Meredith and Chloe! Interacting with anyone who considered themselves members of society would have been nice, but it was even better to be picked up by these two amazing individuals. We drove up the Cali coastline, taking breaks to check out some of the beaches before parting ways again in Redwood National Park.

Ah, I've forgotten an important detail...

So when I first met Chloe and Meredith we stopped for gas and saw another car with BC plates. The girls, excited to talk to fellow Canadians, struck up a conversation with the two men in the vehicle. Turns out they were Brits who had purchased the vehicle from a French couple back in San Fran. Nice people, but not Canadians.

Anyway. I continue onwards, passing through straight up hippie country. I took a ride on a magical mystery bus, and was offered pot by at least three different drivers. I was also asked for my clean pee while at a McDonalds... I didn't want to give up my pee for some reason.

I get as far as I can in the day, leaving me about 70 miles from Portland. I camp out or the night, sleep in late the next morning (today) and within twenty minutes along rolls the two Brits, Matthew and Wilfrid. They take me all the way to my destination in Portland, we chat and have coffee at Powell's Books, then parted ways.

Serendipity.

I'm currently chillin at the bookstore while I wait for my host, a fellow Beloiter, to get off work, before going out and doing whatever!

Much more to come, stay tuned!

There are three lies that will be told this election:

"1. That trade unions are what's wrong with this country...
2. That teachers, and their unions, are what's wrong with this country...
3. That immigrants are what's wrong with this country."

-Steve Earle, getting political on stage at the Bluegrass festival at the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco!

Let's back up a little bit. Steve Earle is the singer/songwriter of 'Copperhead Road', the song that I heard while in Texas that made all the cowboys and cowgirls run up and stomp their boots in unison to the accompanying line dance. They didn't stomp their boots when Mr. Earle played that song here in the park, but there was a crowd of nearly 800,000 stoners, boozers, hippies (beautiful and dirty), families, hobos, dogs, and regular guys named Steve all following along and having a bitching time!

Ok, let's back up a little more...

Salt Lake City!

Stayed with a host who was both hot and philosophical, nothing naughty happened.

Bitch and a half escaping from Utah, but after two nights of getting stranded I did NOT make it to my destination in Vegas. Cop kicked me off the highway -which, by the way, is how I made it to Utah from Miami- so I was stranded at Wal Mart for like, ten goddamn hours. Gas station host took me a town down which was an easier place to catch a ride. Long story short, I "covert camped" near the highway, I slept under bridges at other times, and even once purchased a shower at a truck stop. I won't bore you with the details of those three days, nor do they much matter at this point. I had some bad luck but in the end I made it all the way to San Diego, where I was able to catch a trolley to the border and get picked up by Randy!

Randy was true grit, but we got along and soon it became obvious that the man had a sensitive side. Not ten minutes after telling me a bar fighting story followed by "and then I shoved her mouth right into my cock"-like story, he showed me his romance novel that he was writing that was surprisingly some of the best writing I've seen all year. I only stayed for two nights but I wish I could have stayed longer because Randy was definitely a fun and engaging person once you got to know him and he showed me a good time down in Tijuana!

There was also Gal, the Israeli host who was also staying at Randy's place. He was a fun guy, and his total obliviousness to U.S. culture made me look more cultured by comparison.

Anyway, it's hard for me to linger on the "pre-San Francisco" days, because I've really been falling in love three times over in this incredible city. I was here one year ago with my girlfriend at the time and we made some beautiful memories that I carry with me coming into this city. What's so amazing about the city, however, is that even in it's 49 square mile area the possibilities to create more good memories are right behind every street corner.

I was just dicking around Chinatown, not really going in anywhere but just looking around when I stumbled upon Jack Kerouac alley. For those of you who have read "On the Road," the book was a strong inspiration for this whole hitchin thang. A quick Google search revealed that Kerouac frequented the bar and the bookstore at the end of the alley.

But enough of that... I saw fucking Steve Earle live and he was AWESOME!!! Guy's pretty far out there (especially for a country singer). I met my good friend Andrew from college at the show and we hung out for a bit. Second night I was there (Sunday), I was introduced to Theresa, Joey, and Lorrie (Rorrie, if you pronounce it with the Chinese accent). We left the festival, grabbed a drink at Kerouac bar (it's not called that), and had a jolly ol' time. They were cool.

I'm leaving out a lot but I'm a bit drunk so please excuse me. What I'm really trying to say here is that of all the places I've been to so far, I think my thumb has been most on the pulse of San Francisco. I've casually had the opportunities to use my Mandarin, Japanese, and Spanish (not with tourists I should mention), and the people are just... well, they're just cool. It's a city, just like any other city, with crazies and hipsters, and unnecessary glamour, (and lots and lots of gays), but beyond all that there's just this "coolness" in the people which make them chill to talk to, though not naive. It ain't LA where people are worried about their appearances all the fucking time and it ain't New York where it'll take you forever to get from one end of town to the other. It's San Francisco and I'm falling in love with this place all over again!

I'm here for two more nights, then I start my return journey. I'll try to find a way to be back here as soon as possible.

Signing out.

Way before Copperhead Roaaaaaaaad! (photos soon to come)

Will blog later

Having good times now, I'll write something when I take a break from doing shit!

I wish this photo weren't upside down.

C2ShiningC, Mexico style!

Mexico, amigos.

This is going to be another quick blog but I just want to make a quick update on my current status. I'm in fucking Mexico, that's my status!

I'm literally laying in my bed listening to the Pacific ocean splash against the shore, buzzed off of Mexican beer and tequila. My CouchSurfing host is true grit - still working out how to get along with him comfortably, but he's nice enough - he even picked me up on his Harley State-side and drove me around downtown Tijuana before bringing me back to his place.

To be exact, I'm in a part of town called Playas de Tijuana, which, as the name implies, is along the coast and slightly to the west of all the hookers and craziness that is la ciudad de Tijuana.

An Israeli traveler is also staying here, and the three of us went down to a coffee shop in the neighborhood. This place reminds me of Roatan, Honduras very much (the island of sunny beaches and shady people), but a much nicer version of it. There's a beautiful boardwalk with cafes, bars, and beach-dwellers. I've seen couples making out right on the street and I've seen parents walking their two-year old kids after midnight. There are beautiful women everywhere, and all I had to do was say "I play the saxophone too" to a band member at a cafe for us to break into a long conversation about music, Mexico, and travel.

I was stranded for three nights in a row before arriving here, standing in 100+ degree heat, sleeping under bridges (don't worry mom!), and all sorts of other craziness, but I wouldn't take any of it back. The hard times make you appreciate the good ones all the more and I can confidently tell y'all that I earned this little slice of paradise!

There's a lot I can say about where I am, and more importantly what I've been through to get here. I'm not even at my final destination yet, but as I listen to the waves of the Pacific not 20 meters from my window I know that I've made it as far west as I'm going to go. It's been a month and a day since I started this shit and what a journey it's been.

More to come in the days and weeks to come, but from Playas de Tijuana, I'm signing out!

#C2ShiningC

Greetings from California

I know it's been a while since my last post and I have loads to write about but this is just going to be a quick update to let y'all know that I'm alive and well!

Had some difficulties getting to Las Vegas - more so than you would expect for a straight-shot road - so I had to forget about that and continue on! I just crossed into California via I-15, which will take me all the way j to San Diego where I'll be picked up and taken into Tijuana, Mexico (hopefully by my CouchSurfing host and not some coyote)!

I'll post more of the details about Salt Lake, my failed (yet exciting) trek to Vegas, and whatever comes next!

Here's Hugo de Guatemala (no Mexico!) looking at the full moon in Utah.

Signing out!

Colorful Colorado!

In a nutshell, that's Fortoberfest, paranormal activity, elk butt-licking, and one Willard Mittens Romney! In the past five days I've done more than any other five day period on my trip so far. So as usual, I have no idea where to begin.

Let's start with New Mexico.

Before even making it to Emily's place up in Loveland, Colorado (about one hour north of Denver), I spent a couple nights in Santa Fe where I had a GREAT time! Got a really cool vibe from the people in New Mexico in general, but there was just something in the air in Santa Fe that makes me want to return on my way back. I stayed with a CouchSurfing host who was born and raised in the city and therefore knew all the best places to go. Joe was a dog, and he took me out on the town where I was able to witness his smooth attempts at picking up women. I've never been much good at that sort of thing so I just sat back and enjoyed watching him do his thang.

Womanizing aside, Joe was an excellent host. The first night I arrived he took me out to his neighborhood bar, where I met other hitchhikers and travelers. They were happy to see a young man like myself have such a spirit of adventure and bought me all of my drinks for the night. Santa Fe is about 1000 feet higher than El Paso, where I started in the morning, so the beers had an extra kick because of the altitude. I was plenty drunk by the end of the night, and all I gotta say is that I'm glad I didn't publish my drunk blog post that I wrote that night...

Me partying with Joe and his beautiful dog, Tally Ho.

Joe had to work so he couldn't show me around town, but he lent me his bike and I discovered it myself. I visited two famous churches: the St. Francis Cathedral Basilica (one of the oldest in the new world) and the Loretto Chapel, home of the Miracle Staircase (google it). I also hit up the Georgia O'Keeffe museum of art. I didn't know who Georgia O'Keeffe, but my drivers as far as Midland, Texas told me that if I'm visiting Santa Fe I need to check out that museum. O'Keeffe, I discovered, is a pretty famous artist known for her landscape works. Having just seen much of the landscape hitching through the desert, I really enjoyed viewing her sometimes abstract depictions of it! Contrary to what many critics say, O'Keeffe's work should NOT be viewed with a Freudian analysis...

Leaving Santa Fe was nothing. Joe left me by the highway and within two minutes I got a ride. I was hungover and didn't feel like working for a conversation, but as luck would have it my driver was simply the chillest human being on the planet. We talked about New Mexico, drinking, some politics, all very effortlessly.

I was dropped off in Las Vegas (different Las Vegas) where I was stuck for over two hours. Eventually a man took me 20 miles down the road and left me even further in the middle of nowhere. I thought I was screwed, but within a couple minutes the miracle ride showed up: a man driving over 200 miles all the way to Denver, Colorado!

Christino was a talker, which was alright because he had a LOT of interesting things to say and I hung onto his every word. He told me all about New Mexico's history, how the conception is that Spanish conquistadors settled the land when in fact most of the first settlers were third or fourth generation MEXICAN Spaniards. He was an old man, but he told me about his days as a hippy fighting in the Chicano Movement (sort of like the Blank Panthers for Mexican Americans). I also learned that he had a friend who worked in the U.S. embassy in the Dominican Republic, where my mother was the deputy chief of mission for three years! He received two phone calls on the drive where he would excitedly tell the other person, "you'll never guess where this guy's mom worked!"

I really wish I could've rode with him all the way to Denver, but in Trinidad, Colorado (a few hours away), the man's teeth fell out and he had to turn around. "Shit, I had Broncos tickets... sorry, kid." After a ride with an ex-felon (several times over), a Mormon, and just a regular guy named Steve, I was waiting to be picked up in Loveland, Colorado by my friend, Emily!

I've been kickin it with Emily for the last few days, during which time we have done a lot of cool things! First we checked out Fortoberfest, a celebration of Fort Collins culture, namely beer, bicycling, and bands. We ordered a few drinks, listened to the music, and rode one of those bikes that's suppose to have a keg in the middle (this one didn't). A video of the biking, beering, and banding can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151028949307331 (it should be public, but let me know if it's blocked for some reason). Emily even talked me into buying a sweet cowboy hat at the event, which I'm going to rock all across the country ;)

Emily and I drinking with Avery the Squirrel

That evening we watched Stanley Kubrick's version of The Shining because the next day we visited the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the book. It was my first time seeing the movie and it was awesomely chilling (especially because we were drinking blood-red wine while we watched it)! The next day at the Stanley Hotel I didn't know what to expect. First, I got to witness the beautiful scenery on the drive up. I was awestruck by the mountains, and any concerns I had in life at that moment were whisked away by the mountain air. At the hotel Emily and I took the tour feeling very lightheaded (we were now at over 7000 ft altitude). I took the tour with no expectations, which was good because I quickly learned that the Stanley Hotel is popular destination for ghost hunters and believers in paranormal activity (aka those-who-fuck-not).

Our guide was an excellent story teller and she really brought to life the history of the hotel, from it's first owners, to Steven King's experience there, to Jim Carey storming out out of fear. I just sort of gave her skeptical glares when she'd talk about orbs and ghosts, but still enjoyed her storytelling.

Near the end of the tour she took us to a hallway where supposed children ghosts like to chill. She asked two of the kids in our group to take a seat and hold out their hands, where she placed two lolly pops. After a few minutes of her calling for the ghost children to come out and play, we all watched (some with amazement, some with skepticism) as the lolly pop in one of the kid's hand began to stand upright. "There's no magnets here," said our guide, and told us an anecdote about one tour member insisted that she unwrap the lolly pop to prove that there was no gimmick going on. I'll admit, I saw the lolly pop stand upright, but unlike most, if not all, of the people in the hallway, I walked away from that experience just as unconvinced and skeptical as I was before.

Here's our guide, the kid, and the child ghost. More pictures are on Facebook.

Emily and I grabbed lunch in a place with an absolutely GORGEOUS mountain view, then drove an hour and a half to Denver to check out Ol' Wilbur Mitholomew Romney do some campaigning.

Oh, we saw a bunch of elk's along the way. There was one male and a whole lot of females. The male elk was licking the female elk's butt sometimes.

Elk porn

Anyway, Mitt Romney!

So we made it to Denver and waiting in line to enter the event. Emily decided ahead of time that she would simply pretend to be Republican (going as far as cheering for fucking Coors when he was mentioned in a speech), but I just went to witness democracy in action (don't laugh). All told, it was a pretty interesting night, but not as thought provoking as I thought it would be. I sort of thought Mitt Romney would use the opportunity of talking to his base to debunk some of the criticisms that have been thrown his way in recent weeks, but he didn't sound any different than the same ol' Mitt Romney I've been hearing and seeing on CNN. I heard no specifics, and in the 45 minutes or so that he spoke it was mostly how the U.S. is worse off than it was four years ago and a lot of "American exceptional-ism" shit that you'd hear from the other side too. Most of his time was spent telling American success stories like the creation of Jimmy Johns ("and you know he built it!").

Although he didn't impress me, and I didn't think that he would, his speech did contain some powerful moments. Nothing Republican-exclusive, just general points about America after 9/11, and the importance of young people in this next election. I almost booed him when he said that we need to "put our kids and our teachers first and our teachers unions behind," and I had to just shake my head when he said that Barack Obama wants to "impose unions" on small businesses. All told, there weren't a whole lot of facts in his speech and most of his time was spent warming the heart of the crowd. Still, it was an interesting experience. If Obama has a rally in one of my next destinations I'll make every effort to go.

He looks just as stiff 200ft away as he does on TV.

I know this has been one of my longer posts so I hope you guys enjoyed it. I'm getting pretty darn good at this hitchin thing and I'm having a fantastic time! Tomorrow I'm off to Salt Lake City, then Las Vegas, down to Tijuana, and up to San Francisco where I'll stay for a few days.

From Loveland, Colorado, I'm signing out!

My driver's teeth fell out in front of me.

He picked me up in the middle of nowhere and was driving over 200 miles in my direction. But alas, when we stopped for food and he took a big bite out of his McDonald's sandwich I witnessed a moment of confusion, then panic on his face. He then held out his hands and a set of dentures broken in half fell into them. "I'm going to have to turn around," he said. "Shit, I had Broncos tickets..."

This is going to have to be a short blog because I'm about to go out to lunch with my friend Emily, but I wanted to let the world know that I am alive and well! (very well!) I'll post more of the details later but I had an excellent CouchSurfing host in Santa Fe, where I spent two nights, and very much discovered the higher-altitude night life.

I'm in Loveland, Colorado right now, about an hour north of Denver, where I'll stay for the weekend and kick it with Emily!

Signin out.

"Get a job, queer!"

That was the rather enlightening comment I received in Midland, Texas from a dickless douchbag yelling out of his truck as he passed me on the side of the road. I just kind of stared at him as he passed, not really registering what had just happened but now that I've had a moment to process it there's a couple things I'd like to say.

First of all, I have a job. It's called being awesome full-time.

Secondly, I'm not so sure the "queer" part of that comment was necessary. Ok, yes, I've been spending so much time in the sun lately that my hair has turned at least three shades blonder, making it look like I recieved highlights recently. Add the fact that I smile at all the drivers and give them a big friendly wave when they make eye contact with me and sure, I can understand how all that could look a little gay.

Also I do occationally sing and dance to artists such as Adele and Jack Johnson while I'm waiting for vehicles, but still! The bigotry...

Not two cars after "get a job, queer," I got my first middle finger (surprising that it took three weeks to happen), giving me the brief impression that people from west Texas are just a bunch of assholes. I say brief because only ten minutes later a car stopped and handed me a McDonald's bag with a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a large fry so we cool west Texas.

I was happy when a trucker stopped and took me 50 miles away from heckler avenue. Twenty minutes after that I secured a ride with an El Paso Mexican who took me 260 miles through the desert and into my destination (like a boss). Now I'm sippin on Shiner Bocks at my CouchSurfing hosts house here in El Paso, Texas.

I just skipped over an entire day so let me backtrack a little bit.

I left Arlington, Texas for Midland, Texas, a city named because of its location between El Paso and Dallas. My trip to Midland had its ups and downs. First, there was the hot, hot, dear god holy moly HOT Latina girl who picked me up on a road I wouldn't expect anyone to pick me up on. It was a fast and busy entrance ramp, and cars zoomed by without even looking over at me. When I asked her why she even stopped for me she said that she'd want someone to if she were in my position.

She was my age, strapped with a pistol, street smart as all hell, and did I mention hot?  She took me 40 miles down the road on the way to work and dropped me off on a much better road than where she picked me up.

Soon after Steven took me halfway to my destination. Steven's ride was a down moment of my journey. It started off alright with us entering a very interesting conversation about healthcare for the elderly, how the world has changed since the great depression (he owned a nursing home), and life in west Texas. All was well for about an hour and a half, but in the last half hour of the ride I noticed that he was stroking his thy while he was talking with me, seemingly unconciously. No reason to panic, I thought, and continued chatting only slightly disturbed by the thy-stroking. When he asked, "what do you do about sex?" out of the blue, red flags went up in my head. I rolled my eyes, laughed, and told him that I did alright (I'm paraphrasing), then I looked out the window in a clear end-of-conversation kind of way. A little later he said something that raised another red flag. He was a Texan but he absolutely hated how all Texans needed to have a big truck, he said. "I don't need a truck, I have a big dick!" Ok, now I'm bothered by this guy. I happen to agree with his big truck, small dick comment but that whole thy-stroking thing put me on alert mode.

Obviously nothing happened, and although I was on high alert for the last thirty minutes of the ride I didn't feel nervous. For one, I felt in control of the conversation. Also I had a rape whistle, pepper spray, and two knives, all of which I was ready and willing to use if this creep tried anything. I hopped out of the vehicle in Abilene, about halfway to my destination and had a Denny's luch.

My next ride was a pickup truck, which was AWESOME! Best part about pickups is that you get to zoom past all the fuckers who gave you dirty looks. I listened to my iPod as my driver sped at 80 miles an hour past everyone on the road and couldn't help by laugh myself silly.

I hopped out of the pickup in Midland, small talked with my driver a bit (he offered me a job as an electrician), then called my CouchSurfing host up and was picked up within minutes.

Lots I could say about Randall, my host (the toilet paper at his house was even softer than at my gay host's house), but I feel I've rambled on for long enough already.

I'm in El Paso, heading to Santa Fe tomorrow, and by Friday I'll be chilling with Emily up in Loveland Colorado!

From the U.S.-Mexico border, estoy signing out!

In a truck heading in the direction of...

A Mexican told me that I looked like a Mexican.

He said he thought I was a Mexican because of my facial hair and -- and this is the fucked up part -- because I was standing on the side of the road. Roberto was my second illegal immigrant driver (one more in the state of Texas and I win a free taco!)

 Ok, that was messed up...

After recuperating in Huntsville for almost a week with my high school friend from the Dominican Republic, I hit the road again on a week-long journey to Loveland, Colorado! Seeing Aida again was really great! She was so easy to talk to and definitely gave me the full Huntsville experience. She took me to a dance club called Shenanigans that felt very Texan. First the place was filled with cowboys and cowgirls (all ready to party). When Copperhead Road, a famous country song by Steve Earle played nearly everyone in the club rushed to the dance floor to do the Copperhead Road line dance. The energy in the room was amazing, and now I can't listen to that song without hear the chorus of hundreds of boots stomping in unison!

I spent almost a week in Huntsville, but the time flew by so quickly that it all feels like I just arrived yesterday. Thanks again, Aida, and I hope to see you again soon!

I left Aida's apartment by 11:20 (a late start) and began to walk to the highway. Two miles later I was there, but Texas is filled with annoying side roads that run parallel to the interstate. I had to walk another mile or so just to get to a decent entrance ramp. I waited three hours, taking a break for lunch at McDonald's, before getting picked up by Roberto.

He was going to Dallas, but he went out of his way to take me to my CouchSurfing host's place in Arlington, TX. I made it to my destination in a single shot :)

On the road he told me his story. Unlike my first illegal immigrant driver who crossed the desert into Arizona (passing dead bodies as he went), Roberto paid a coyote to take him across. He was a very resourceful man and his English was excellent despite coming into the United States without speaking a word of it or taking any classes. I was amazed that he sped on the highway, up to 90 miles per hour in a 75 zone, but he would slam on the brakes whenever he spotted a cop or his radar detector started to beep. We talked about Mexico, life in the U.S., women, and sometimes we just sat there in silence (without it being awkward in the slightest!). So far my Latino drivers (legal immigrants and illegal alike), have been some of the easiest to talk to. Or not talk to if all I wanted to do was stare at the country passing outside the vehicle.

I'm currently here in Arlington with a CouchSurfing host who has THE softest toilet paper. We've been playing Mario Kart, watching movies, drinking beer, and just kickin it! And yes, Angeline, I do kind of wish we built a fort and watched Lord of the Rings, he's that kind of guy.

Tomorrow Midland, Texas, then El Paso, then North to Santa Fe, New Mexico and Loveland, Colorado to see my friend Emily!

Signin out!

Texas...

"You smell like gay"

Actually it was a combination of sunscreen and bug spray, which I guess makes me smell "like gay" in Mississippi.

As usual, I have no idea where to begin. Every car I get into can be a long and detailed story all by itself so I'll have to gloss over some of the details. When I left off last time I was kickin it with my parents in Miami. From there I took a bus to Crystal River up in central Florida to see my Aunt, Uncle, and three cousins. After a night of beer, Jeff Dunham, and tickling my youngest cousin to sleep, I was driven to I-75 by my Aunt in the morning.

Within an hour of waiting along I-75, a trucker transporting vehicles pulled over. He hopped out of the cab, handed me a key to a Lexus SUV and told me to go ahead and listen to the radio, turn the A/C on, just don't put it in gear. John, the trucker, looked legit, so I climbed the truck and hopped in! After having a giggling fit for a good half hour (a video of which I posted to Facebook), I calmed down a bit and just enjoyed the ride. Most of the drivers that passed either looked dumbfounded that this kid was chilling in a Lexus in the back of a truck or gave me a big smile and thumbs up. One woman tried to signal to me that hitchhiking was suicide, and to be honest if I had gotten in HER vehicle it probably would have been. John, however, was an incredibly nice man who helped me out tremendously and in no way made any effort to kill me.

About 100 miles up I-75 I was dropped off at the intersection with I-10, a highway that goes all the way to California and the road I would take almost all the way to my destination in Huntsville, Texas. In under an hour another trucker transporting vehicles stopped for me (this time I sat up front in the cab). Geno was by far the kindest driver I've had to date. The great-grandson of a slave from Mississippi, Geno had a soft and take-it-as-it-comes way about him. He was transporting cars for Hertz to New Orleans and would pass right through my stop for the day at Pensacola, Florida. He was easy to talk to, always had a big smile, and shared fascinating stories about his family's upbringing.

In Pensacola I walked over to the nearest Waffle House and called Gerald, my CouchSurfing host I contacted the night before. An hour later I was taking a shower and getting ready for Harry Potter trivia night at the local bar in town! All told, my Crystal River to Pensacola trip was incredibly smooth and exciting. Unfortunately, this gave me higher expectations for the next day, when I would try to make it all the way to Huntsville, TX.

Gerald dropped me off where he picked me up along I-10. For three hours I waited along the entrance ramp watching driver after driver give me dirty looks as they passed. I'm not sure why they gave me dirty looks, as I was experiencing a huge boost in spirits from my luck the night before and therefore looked incredibly happy standing on the side of the road. Eventually a man from Alabama took me 15 miles down the road (which I happily took just to get out of that spot!). About 30 minutes after being dropped off I got a ride in the back of a pickup truck for another 30-odd miles! That was a lot of fun :)

I was left at a busy truck-stop, however I still needed to wait over two and a half hours before getting a ride (and not a far one at that). He was a hairstylist from Mobile, Alabama, and within five minutes of being in the car he pulled out a chillum and was offering me a hit. I took one (just one), and watched the sun set in beautiful Bama. He dropped me off about 15 miles from the Mississippi border, where I ran into another traveller.

I didn't get his name, but he claimed to be stranded on-route to Pensacola (where I started out from). I gave him a couple bucks for food, then left to walk over to the entrance ramp on I-10. I was in the ideal spot to catch a ride: slow entrance ramp with a lot of traffic, truck stop nearby, but I just wasn't having the same luck I had yesterday. I waited four hours for a ride, listening to Harry Potter on audiobook while I waited. Eventually I got taken 15 miles down the road into Mississippi by Mr. "smell like gay."

He claimed to be a Mason, a secret society that does various charitable acts and supposedly influenced the way our country was founded. I was deeply skeptical, but he showed me the ring and his tone of voice told me that at least HE believed what he was saying. Before I got out he told me about an excellent church I could attend if I was ever in Mississippi again (not likely) and wished me luck.

I needed luck at this point. In the 12 hours of hitching I only made it about 85 miles from Pensacola (versus the 370 I made the day before). I was tired, and for the first time I felt frustrated with hitching. Even when I waited seven hours trying to catch a ride to St. Louis, hitching was new and exciting and I didn't mind that much. Now I definitely felt a sense of "just fucking get me there already." I started thinking about where I could sleep for the night while waiting on the entrance ramp when all the sudden the miracle ride arrived!

I could see a Mexican man behind the wheel, a white woman in the passenger seat, and two teenage girls in the back. They were making a midnight ride all the way to, as luck would have it, Houston, Texas, a city just an hour south of Huntsville! The woman in the front explained where they were going, told me that her daughters were a little nervous about picking up a hitchhiker, but that they wouldn't mind helping me out. I hoped in, unable to believe my luck. In the car I found out that the driver was not, as I originally assumed, the father of the girls in the back, but rather a "complicated" friend of the woman. I didn't want to inquire what that meant exactly, but I found out anyway shortly after. He was an illegal immigrant. He had no papers and no drivers license, yet here he was driving this single mother and her daughters from Atlanta to Houston.

The woman was a nurse (a nice one at that), who was in a relationship with the man. Francisco, the driver, spoke little English, but had an incredible story. He came to the United States three years ago through the desert in Arizona, walking past the bodies of those before him who died from starvation or dehydration. He spoke in Spanish and he told me that he knew he could've been just like those who died in the dessert.

Well, I know this a bad point to interrupt the story, but my friend just got home from class so I'm going to get off the computer now. I'll post the rest soon!

From Huntsville, Texas, I'm signin out!


 ...
 ...
 ...


And Aida's off to class so I'm back

Anyway, back to Francisco. He was a decent driver, but maybe a little reckless. If I were him, I wouldn't have driven a single mile over the speed limit, but he drove 5-10 miles over. I offered to take the wheel, but everyone in the car assured me that he'd be ok. I was a little nervous, but he did work as a truck driver at one point (god knows how) and I made sure to buy him a coffee after it got late.

When I jumped in the car the woman (Lisa) took the back seat with her daughters and gave me the front. At midnight I learned that Lisa just had a birthday. I bought her Hostess' Cup Cakes at the next gas stop, in light of not having access to real cake. This really cheered her up. We drove all through Mississippi, Louisiana -- I got to see the Super Dome for the first time! -- and all the way into Texas!

I asked to be dropped off before Huston (I don't remember the name of the town), and started walking looking for a place to sleep. Usually I can find a secluded place near the highway to set up my hammock or pull out my sleeping bag, but at this spot there were only houses. It was past four in the morning and I didn't want to be caught trespassing on someones property, especially in Texas. I walked for at least a mile looking for a place but there were only more houses. I turned around and headed back to the truck stop near the exit. Around five in the morning I sat down on a bench, closed my eyes, and soon I was asleep.

I woke up to a man speaking "at" me. He told me he likes to come down and talk to the hobos (he looked like one himself) and immediately went into his life story, which, frankly, I didn't care to hear first thing in the morning. He was a nice enough guy, and after I made sense of what was happening around me we talked about my travels a bit. He gave me some advice on catching rides at bus stops, which I later not use.

It was September 11, and I watched the memorial service on CNN while eating a hardy Denny's Breakfast. I was tired, but I got enough sleep in the car and on the bench to get me through the day. Turns out Texas is a BRILLIANT state for catching rides, and I'd make it to Huntsville in no time.

After only two rides, a lunch break with one of my drivers at "Simply Country" (I ordered "the lunch"),  I was in Livingston, Texas, only 30 miles from Huntsville. I called Aida, my friend from Huntsville, who said she could pick me up there. Tommy, my driver, and I stopped at an American Legion post to have a couple beers while we waited, as he was a member of the Son's of the American Legion. I was tired, but the excitement of making it to my destination trumped my exhaustion.

I'll be resting here in Huntsville for a few days, doing a LOT of relaxing. I'll admit that my trip to Texas burnt me out a little bit, making me feel like I'll need to add something in my daily regiment to keep my mind limber on my trek to San Francisco.

Again, there's too many details that I simply had to exclude in order to not make this post as long as my senior thesis, so I'm sorry if it all sounds a little glossed over! This blog has gotten over 350 views since I started, so thank you guys so much for reading! I do feel some self-induced pressure to add some literary flair to my writing, but I don't have any of that shit so y'all are just going to get it raw.

I'll sign out by saying this trip has really been changing my perspective on life. Hitching is an excellent way to escape your comfort zone and talk to people you'd normally never interact with in your entire life. I've had challenges, some expected and some unexpected (like fucking repellant-resistant Bama-ants), but I've also experienced unimaginable hospitality and kindness from total strangers. My listening and people skills have reached a new high and without a doubt I'm learning to appreciate the little comforts in life. I acknowledge that there's risk in what I'm doing, but to all the nay-sayers of hitchhiking I feel compelled to say this: my faith in humanity has only gotten stronger. People are generally good, and Michelle Obama has firm arms :)

Signing out!

Aida took this in Livingston.

Quick update: Here are the links to the videos I posted on Facebook.

In a Lexus in the back of a truck: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151013835302331

In a pickup truck in Bama: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151015245957331

A man put a sharp razor to my throat

I was sitting in his chair without my knives or pepper spray. I saw him sterilize his razor before moving it over to my neck. He talked to me about his family in Nicaragua while he did it. Had I not had a towel covering my mouth I would've told him that my family lived in Central America too. I felt the razor moving across my neck and up to my face,  not knowing what he would do next...

Thirty minutes later I walked out of that barber shop in Miami with the best shave I've ever had in my life! (gotcha)

So I'm here in Miami until Friday (or early Saturday) visiting my parents. I just found out a couple days into my hitchhiking adventure that they'd be in the U.S. for about a week, and although my first thought was 'great, I'll hitch down to Miami!' a quick reality check made me realize that that would take fucking forever. I've mostly hung out with my parents at or near the hotel, but it's been nice just being with them.

Passed the 200-view mark for this blog so thanks for reading guys! Your comments on facebook and twitter are real spirit-boosters, especially during those long waits. I'll be working my way all the way to San Francisco over the next couple weeks so stay tuned!

Here's me at "The Art of Shaving" store in Miami. Mike, the barber, is a great barber and a great guy! Signing out.

I got frisked by a HOT female officer.

I'm talkin sorority girl with authority kind of hot. She did the same motions as the cop from my first day: background check, took away my knife and pepper spray, gave me a good friskin, then finally gave me a ride. I gotta say, the first cop was a better frisker, probably because she was older and more experienced if you know what I mean. Despite having two run-ins with the police I have not had any problems with them. Kirstin (hot cop), even gave me a ride all the way to my destination and told me stories about how she once maced a goose (this only added to her attractiveness in my eyes).

But anyway...

So much shit has gone down since my last post that I really don't even know where to begin. I guess I'll start by saying that seeing Justine, my old college friend, in Iowa City was a lot of fun! She took me out on the town and I done got oh so drunk. I was a little worried about hitching hungover but a two mile walk to the highway after a breakfast burrito cured that right up. Thanks again, Justine!

I'm going to have to leave out a LOT of details in order to make this story not sound like an incoherant mess of words splewing out onto the interwebs, so bare with me. I had good luck in the morning after leaving Iowa City, and after a couple of rides I made it to a Iowa town called Mount Pleasant. That town was not pleasant, nor did I see any mountains. I was dropped in the ideal spot to catch a ride: plenty of traffic (but not too much so that drivers think the guy behind them will pick me up), a long and windy entrance ramp (ensuring that the drivers will get a good look at me), and plenty of light. There was even a Quiznos right next to the highway. Despite these perfect conditions, I had zero luck picking up a ride. I waited a total of seven hours, during which time one vehicle did stop for me. The man was driving a truck and inside his vehicle were three boys and a dog. At first glance this seemed like a safe ride, but after talking to the guy I got a very negative vibe and declined the ride. I don't believe he meant me any kind of harm, but he was getting increasingly frustrated with me that I didn't know the surrounding towns. Regardless, I did not enter the vehicle and was stranded in Mt. Pleasant for the night.

I found a secluded place with some trees and set up my hammock to crash for the night. I pulled out my sleeping bag and slept like a baby.

Next morning I tried again and got a ride in 20 minutes with a born-again coke addict named Curtis. He wasn't a bad guy, just partied a little much in college and started getting in with the wrong people. He had been clean for two years, was married, had kids, and really was kind person. He took me all the way into Missouri. There's been a few moments these last few days where I have been unable to control my smiling (or even laughing loudly in public). Strutting into Iowa City and St. Louis are two examples, but seeing that "Welcome to Missouri" sign was another one.

A few rides later I made it to a town called Hannibal, about 100 miles from my destination. I got dropped off in a shitty spot: right in the middle of town. A hitchhiker I picked up once told me that Wal Mart is usually a good spot to catch a ride due to all the truckers that go in and out (Wal Mart also allows truckers to sleep in the parking lot). I tried my luck on a road that both led to Wal Mart, and was close to the road I needed to be on. After an hour the sun went down. An hour later some guy stopped and yelled, "bad spot buddy! Some guy guy robbed just down there!" "Ok, thanks!" I said back, not entirely registering what he was saying. About five minutes later it hit me that I wasn't on the highway but in the middle of town and should be more careful about robbers. I left the spot and began to walk through town. The highway, which went straight through town, obviously didn't have any entrance ramps, and with the sun down I knew it was going to be damn near impossible to get anyone to stop for me. Of all the towns I could've been stranded in, "Hannibal" didn't sound like the friendliest (although the people really were). I hunkered down in a motel for the night, giving me the chance to shower, process the events of the last two days, and watch Democrats and Republicans yell at each other on TV.

I was a little worried the next day. I was still in the middle of town and had no clue how I was going to get a ride. I enjoyed the complementary breakfast that came with my motel room, checked out, then began to walk. It was 92 degrees, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and I had 35 pounds of shit that I was lugging around on my back. I walked, and I walked, and I walked some more, hoping I'd make it far enough out of town that the highway would turn into a ramp-highway again. I had my thumb out the whole time, but at 60 miles an hour and only seeing the back of my head, the motorists had no way to know that I wasn't some psychopath on some kind of murder pilgrimage. I walked at least five miles, sweating my balls off and bursting blisters on my feet, before an 18-wheeler stopped for me. Stan the truck driver was my savior. Undoubtably the most helpful driver I've hitched with so far, Stan took me all the way into St. Louis! He was headed for Memphis from Des Moines, a route which took him exactly along the two roads I needed to be on. U.S. 61 became I-64, which went straight into St. Louis and intersected the highway that would take me to my friend's suburb (I-270). Stan was a really great person. He helped me not because of all that Christin "do-unto-others" shit (I love that shit), but because it was in his nature. He once picked up a hitchhiker had been on the road for months (during which time the hitcher never grabbed a good shower). The hitcher was tired and wanted to go home, so Stan bought him a bus ticket, setting him back over $60. In his youth Stan hitched across the U.S. as well, although in his time hitchin was sort of a common thing. "You could go to a truck stop and pick up a ride in minutes... not today though." According to Stan, the world "just got too big." "People just don't trust anyone anymore." We talked about hitchin, politics (Stan was a Democrat with some strong views on working for your unemployment check), and stand-up comedy. He dropped me off by I-270, a highway within the city limits that would take me straight to my friend's suburb. He gave me a Smith and Wesson flip knife, which I tried to give him some money for but he wouldn't take it, and just like that he was gone.

It's funny how your spirits can be raised in a second, even after two nights of being stranded. Whenever a car stops, whether they're going in the right direction or not always stirs some excitement and "resets" whatever spirit may have been lost. Admittedly, I was quite discouraged when I left Hannibal. I didn't know how I was going to get a ride, it was taking me far longer than I hoped to make it to St. Louis, and on top of that I would walk for miles with little hope that anyone would stop. Stan reset all that, making me feel like the biggest badass that ever walked this earth. I waited along the entrance ramp of 270 with my new knife in my pocket and the biggest grin I've had on this trip yet. Twenty minutes later the police came and took me to Westport Plaza in Maryland Heights, the location my friend Alex would pick me up from.

What I think is lacking from this whole narrative so far is the change that I'm experiencing in the way I interact with people, the way I feel about humanity, and even just the way that I think. Maybe in another post I'll write about all that, but I don't know if I can put it into words just yet.

My parents told me a couple days ago that they'll be in Miami for a week, so I'm putting my trip on hold to go and see them. My first thought when they said that was "great! I'll hitch down there!". After taking two and half days to travel what would normally be a five-hour drive, I've decided that I'll take them up on their offer to fly me there instead. I'll resume my trip from Florida next Saturday when they've left the country. Next stop, Huntsville, Texas!

Here's some weird shit I've seen on the road. Signing out!

 In Iowa City the nuclear weapons can be found at the cat park.

They say these will replace human road workers one day.

Blueberry lemonade (only at Nodo!). Weird, but delicious.

I got frisked by a mildly attractive female cop

Yep, that happened. I know I posted on facebook that she was a hot cop but that was a lie.

I'm sitting here in the Tobacco Bowl, a smoke bar in Iowa City enjoying a well-earned cigar after a rough start to my journey. Like Apollo 13, I consider my journey yesterday to be a successful failure. It was a failure in that I did not make it to Iowa City. I was on the road for over 15 hours and only made it as far as Waterloo, Iowa, a town roughly 60 miles from my destination. I tried to make it all the way, but after a certain hour people just don't like picking up hitchhikers.

My journey to Waterloo put me in the passenger seet of 12 vehicles, the drivers of which (personal problems aside) were some of the kindest and most hospitable people I've encountered in my life. Here are their stories:

First there was Ken. I began walking from my grandma's house in Coon Rapids, Minnesota to state highway 610, a road I hoped to take to the interstate highway. It was suppose to be a 40 minute walk to 610, but after only 30 minutes Ken stopped to let me know that I was doing this whole hithhiking thing totally fucking wrong (I'm paraphrasing). I was on a course that would've taken me right into Minneapolis, a fact, Ken notes, that would make it damn near impossible to find a ride without running into problems with the police. He gave me a ride to the outskirts of the city, gave me a few pointers on staying safe on the road, and then disappeared back into his own life.

I waited over an hour for my next ride. A woman pulled up after about a half hour to hand me a bag of McDonald's with food and a bible passage inside (I fucking love Christians). Remarkably, the bag conained what I would've ordered at Micky D's if I had picked it up myself: a small fries with a McChicken Sandwhich (fuck yeah!). Eventually Jon picked me up and took me to I-35, the highway I would later take into Iowa.

Next came Jesus. Yes, Jesus. He was from Mexico City, which gave me the opportunidad to practicar my espanol un poco. Incredibly nice guy, but unfortunately he left me in the WORST place to pick up another ride. The entrance ramp to I-35 where he left me was right off of another highway, meaning that cars zoomed by at 60 miles an hour and therefore never got the chance to get a good look at me. I waited there for an hour and a half, during which two cars did stop for me but unfortunately were going in the wrong direction. One of the drivers that stopped tried to give me some money, but I refused. Shortly after that Justina the mildly attractive cop pulled up and that's where I got a good friskin.

Justina was nice. She asked the standard questions: are you homeless, what the fuck are you doing out here, etc., then took me one town down the road. I'm grateful for that because I was NOT going to get a good ride where I was at. Within 20 minutes at the new location I was picked up by Dale who took me 30 miles down I-35.

Nothing much to say about Dale. He was the only guy to pick me up that listned to NPR, which sparked a conversation about the RNC.

Next came Eric, a college student headed to Ames Iowa. He was awkward as fuck, but a good kid, despite claiming to "know more than most men" about the "emotions of women" (he really didn't). He took me the farthest down the road than other driver and it was incredibly exciting to finally make it away from the Minneapolis area and into Iowa (woot!). He offered to drive me all the way to Iowa City for 20 bucks, which in retrospect I should've taken him up on. It was about 4 pm by this point and I had no idea that I'd be on the road for eight more hours and enter six more vehicles before failing to make it my destination... Regardless, entering Iowa, talking college shit, and making it much farther down the road really boosted my spirits!

By this point I was in rural Iowa, a perfect place for hitchhikers! I picked up a quick ride from a woman who I'll refer to as sad woman because I can't remember her name. Her story mirrored those of many Americans: factory closed down, leaving her unemployed, health problems that she couldn't pay for, and a love for her family, all of whome lived in the small town where she was born and raised. Despite her sad story, she was incredibly nice, offering me food, telling me to buckle my seatbelt, and taking me as far down the road as she could.

Ten miles later I was picked up by Troy who had a similar story. He worked in a mineral quarry making shit pay. He had a wife who worked two jobs and two prepubesent children. Between the long hours they both worked and taking care of the kids he didn't have much time to spend wit h his wife. He appeared genuinely distressed that he couldn't spend more time with her.

Troy took me about 30 miles down the road to an Iowa town called Nashau. Within minutes I was picked up by Roger, whose life can only be described as a series of unfortunate events. He didn't say it but it was clear he was a recovering alcoholic. He was divorced, his children don't speak with him anymore, and he's had trouble with his job and with the law. Despite this, he had a smile on his face and some interesting stories. The only other time he picked up a hitchhiker was years ago and the hitcher tried to rob him. He pulled a gun on the robber and kicked him out of his moving vehicle (a decision I fullheartedly support). I didn't feel threatened in the slightest by him. For one, we had been talking for a while and developed a friendly rapport. Also he had his gun taken away for some shit he did years ago and wasn't allowed to carry anymore. Roger fed me a subway sandwich, and dropped me off about 20 miles from Waterloo, IA in the WORST place to catch a ride.

The highway had changed from a ramp-highway to simply a high-speed highway with side roads. The sun had set by this point, so I was stuck in the dark with cars zooming by at 70 miles an hour. This was discouraging.

Civilization exisited about five miles down the road so I began to walk. I put my iPod backlight on brightest and "always on" and waved it around franticly while walking down the road. Fourty minutes later Reggie picked me up and took me to the nearest town. Before I got out of the car he blessed me and I continued on as a blessed man. Little did he know I was already an ordained revered from the online Universal Life Church! All my Christian drivers couldn't help by tell me their views on helping humans in need, which I'm grateful for.

Shortly after, Tom picked me up and took me to the highway I needed to go to. I was on track, but it was about 9:30 and there were fewer cars on the road. I waited for three hours on a quiet entrance ramp for a ride to take me to Iowa City. A couple cars stopped but were going in the wrong direction.

By about 12:30 Brandon, a black man from Chicago, picked me up and took me to Waterloo. I have to say, although I'm grateful for the rides and the food given to me by Christians who talked about their views on helping humans, I always detected a hint of "buying their way into heaven" in their talk. Brandon, however, did not give off this vibe in the slightest. He helped me tremendously, going out of his way to take me to the road I needed to get to.

Now I was in Waterloo, IA. I waited for an hour without a single car stopping. Eventually I gave up and got a motel room for the night (the shame!). I considered doing what many of the hitchers I talked to recommend I do and take my sleeping back to crash in a secluded place by the side of the road, but for my parents sake I decided to hit up the motel. The bitch of it is that I didn't transfer enough funds to my checking account, meaning that I had to use my parents credit card to get the room. That did not make me feel good, but I know it's what they would have wanted.

Next day I got a ride within 5 minutes and made it all the way to Iowa City. Boo ya.

This computer's about to die, so I won't get into all the thoughts and emotions that went into a day like yesterday. It was a rough start, but it's definitely been a thrill so far!

Coffee and water time. Signin out.

So I have this blog, despite never reading any of my friends' blogs. Still can't get over the fact that all this is going to be public so I'll probably keep these really short for now and just declare to the world that I am, in fact, still alive, and, oh yeah, I have a blog!

Starting hitchhiking tomorrow so stay tuned for that shit.

Here's a picture of me in front of some giant hops.