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In the Mountains of New Hampshire

There was a calm about the car as we braced for the engine to come to a stop. But outside we could tell that the world was raging. We pushed open the door and hung onto the handle as the wind threatened to pull them from their hinges and we stepped outside. Pants, shirts, bags and my earrings billowed up on the verge of being freed. My hair whipped around and stung me in my face. We walked towards the edge of the cliff but at 70mph you couldn’t get too close because you never knew where the wind might blow your next step.

Along the way we heard stories of climbers who perished on long journeys – including one of a young man who wanted a near death experience and convinced a friend to join him on a journey into the mountains. One of them never made it back. Other hikers disappeared on shortcuts and a family ran out of their home to avoid being hit by an avalanche only to have their home survive them.

We continued up the mountains towards the summit peak of Mount Washington. The temperature continued to drop with every tire turn until it had reached well below the 30’s, with a wind chill factor in the teens. This time there were no surprises stepping out, but the weather had changed dramatically and we were in the middle of a passing cloud. Bits of rain, snow, sleet and hail battered down on bare skin. We rushed into the visitors center towards the warmth of an electric heater. These girls look like they need to get in more then we need to get out! Said a man as he let us pass on by. The café was stocked down with the bare essentials., but anything tasted good after a day in the mountain air. This time we were but passing thorough, but I  hope on another journey we will be longer to stay.

Quickly the climate began to change from thick pine trees and aspen to smaller shrubs and tangled limbs, to nothing but chunks of moss, low foliage and wispy green chunks of grass dancing in the wind.

The East Coast Haul

Late Thursday afternoon I headed northeast towards the four-corners region of Arizona.  Before long the sun had begun to set and was casting a warm bronze glow over the red rainbow colored, rocky buttes, so common to Arizona.  Soon the moon was visible rising in the east over the buttes.  It was nearly full, but tonight a full lunar eclipse was taking place so it cast off an eerie red glow, barely lighting my path up into the mountains. 
I passed from Arizona into Colorado and began my accent into the snow-covered mountains.  As 2am rolled around I found myself too tired to want to risk the windy mountain roads.  I pulled off to the side on a mountaintop to rest for the night beside some parked truckers.
 
Early the next morning I awoke and headed down the mountain.  The once paved road turned to dirt and gravel, as my big gray trailer bumped about behind me.  I pulled dangerously off to the cliff side to avoid oncoming truckers along the one lane dirt road.  Before long though the road turned back to pavement and the terrain to rolling hills as I crossed from Colorado into Wyoming. 

Wyoming was uneventful, antelope... rolling hills, as also was Nebraska.  By the time I hit Iowa I felt thoroughly disgusting from having spent the night in my truck and pulled over at a truck stop to shower.  It was dark and very late in Iowa time (about Midnight).  I grabbed my travel bag from the back of my trailer and headed in to purchase my shower ticket. 

"You drive a rig?" a few voices echoed in surprise. 

"No" I told them, "just hauling my trailer back east to collect more of my things since I moved." 

I slipped into shower stall # 7, it had a toilet, separate shower stall, box fan, and sink with a vanity mirror.   There were also fresh towels and a Hershey's chocolate kiss waiting for me.  The floor was wet and grimy, but by now nothing mattered too much to me.  I locked the door behind me.  I was a little nervous that I was the only one back there... and knew it was dangerous to let my imagination run away with me.  Before long I was clean and very much refreshed.  

I turned back in the key and went out to my truck.  Carefully looking around I opened my trailer and put my bag away; I had had too many close calls spending nights at rest stops not to be careful.  As I stepped out, I heard an engine rev up... once, twice, and again.  I glanced up and saw a trucker leaning out the window trying to get my attention.  I pretended not to notice and hopped into the cab of my truck.  The engine revved again and he shouted out at me.  I drove off into the night. 

Iowa was beautiful; rolling grassy hills, spotted intermittently with clumps of trees.    I stopped mid-day to rest and do some work for my job at a grassy "unimproved" rest stop (the kind you pee in the bushes at).  As I laid out my towel in the grass and sat down with my binder a huge rottie came running at me, the owner yelled but she didn't stop and instead flew right into my lap.  She wanted to play. 

"Oh, no" gasped the owner and came running over "I am so sorry".  

"That's ok," I told him; "I like dogs" and he sat down to chat. 

He was a trucker now, but prior service military and we talked of the Army (what it was like when he served), the recent immigrant smuggling news (Texas) and many other things.  Soon he had to get back on the road and honked a few times as he drove off leaving me alone again with nothing but the sound of passing cars on the highway. 

THE WORLDS LARGEST TRUCK STOP a sign read along the highway (just outside Davenport).  It was time for a break anyhow, so I decided to pull off.  Inside they had a nice salad bar so I decided to eat dinner there. 

As I scanned the room for seats, I saw the majority of the empty ones beside 4 highway patrol officers.  I decided to sit beside them at an empty table.  As a bored, lonely traveler... my ears soon joined the discussion at their table.  I was tired of all the endless days alone with no one to talk to on the road. 

They were talking about a stupid coworker and all the stops they had made that day.   They soon finished up their meal and got up to leave.  A few minutes later the waitress came over and said, "someone got your tab". 

"What?" I asked, shocked… "Who?"

She replied, "he told me not to tell you, but it was him" and pointed the trooper. 

I wanted to run out and thank them, something.  I glanced at the trooper, and then back to the waitress, "What do I do?" I asked her.  "Nothing" she replied "he doesn't know you know."  (So I only sat there, but to this day I still regret not getting up to thank him.  I wish he knew.  Several years later I went back to that same city, to look it over as a possibility for my masters degree.  Just that one act of random kindness made me return and to this day never forget Davenport.  I even visited the same truck stop.  As I walked around the campus and talked to other students, I learned that everyone was unhappy there and they said that I would be bored out of my mind… there was nothing to do.  So I decided against it.  Though I would still like to thank that trooper.)

As I pulled into the Quad cities, a detour took me down along the river front.  It was nothing but stop-and-go with the construction and the sun was beginning to set.  Davenport (Iowa) was beautiful and I began to picture what it would be like living there beside the riverfront.  All too easily, it was a place that I could call home.  Later down the road, I felt my eyes beginning to become very heavy.  "Only for a moment" they seemed to whisper, "just one moment of sleep".  I soon began to hallucinate seeing an eerie blue glow thinking it looked like an opening to a spaceship parked beside the road, or street lamps being trains following beside me where there were not even train tracks.  I got a hotel (the owner gave me the extra large suite for the same price as the small one... I really like Davenport!). 

I stopped for coffee the next morning in Illinois and sat down in an empty seat beside two truckers.  "What's the purpose of those road side scales?" I asked them, "Why are there weight restrictions?"  We began to talk about the 40 cents per mile pay they make, dawn-to-dusk driving restrictions, zip-to-zip pay, laws, tolls, hazmat pay being the same as regular pay, Alaska and the best roads to take to get there, prostitution at the truck stops (that guy revving his engine at me) and more!  All too gladly they shared their opinions and soon the three of us were chatting like old friends (they were also prior service military).  I now know more about truckers than ever (any questions anyone?). 

About two hours later on down the road, a hand was flung out the window at me and I looked over to see a guy about my age with a big goofy smile on his face.  I laughed; they were doing it to everyone they passed.  Then I saw his feet come out and he was cycling in the air.  ‘I gotta follow these guys...’ I thought, ‘just for kicks...’ and I eased my clutch back into 4th gear to catch up. 

Before long the guy with his feet out the window took his socks off and gave one to the guy beside him and they played sock puppets with each other over the roof of the truck.  It was hysterical!  I also watched the facial expressions of people as I passed by (we were doing about 85mph).  Some people smiled and others frowned... looking almost mad, as if fun had become illegal in time with age.  They got off the highway 3 times (gas, etc.), each time catching back up with me so we could resume our "group" (one other car with us too).  Then their exit came and they honked goodbye.  I was left to again find ways to occupy myself.  (You can think so much on these long road trips!  Contemplate life!)

I made my way into Ohio, then Pennsylvania, deer (dead ones) were every where!  As I hit West Virginia, it was getting dark.  I stopped at a rest area to use the bathroom.  It was late and a few old men who worked there sat outside talking of the problems they had had with people that day.  I looked at all the missing person posters pasted about the entranceway.  Last seen here, there... while on a trip to, etc.  Traveling solo cross country is dangerous, because it’s so easy to be taken since no one really knows where you are and stranger crimes are the hardest to solve. 

A few years back at a rest stop in northern Maine it almost happened to me. A man in a black SUV approached my truck and said to me that it was very dangerous to sleep here at night.  He said there was a safer place to sleep a few miles up the road and that he would take me to it.  Something did not feel right and I told him no thanks, then I parked next to a trucker under a lamppost.  All night long he sat in his SUV watching me.  He was very creepy.  The next morning I continued on, only to find that there was no rest stop up ahead.  There was nothing.  Everything he told me was a lie.  I am sure he wanted to rape me and then kill me, dumping my body in a roadside ditch.

I stood there thinking, in a moment of silence and then hit the road again. The West Virginia roads are dangerous, especially at night.  Drunk drivers, crazy truckers (80-85 mph in a 65mph zone at night!), windy roads, tight turns, fog, rain slick spots and deer… were all things to contend with.   I stopped for gas near WVU and looked around at the people, as I am sure others had looked at me upon seeing Arizona license plates.  (You should see how people crane their necks to look when they see someone from that far out of state... as if they are wondering what an Arizonan looks like.  Like I am so different, maybe a cowboy!  Yeah… or maybe a cowgirl!) 

The West Virginians here had heavy accents and were quite ‘red-necky.’  I breathed a sigh of relief; glad I had not gone to WVU like I had once though of due to their excellent forensics program.  

As I pulled into Maryland, I began to miss my trucker style life.  It felt like I had just began to become part of the trucker group (I now knew 1/2 the truckers I saw on the road due to passing them so many time or them passing me and all the other ones I chatted with on the trip).  Never will I look at them quite the same.  I made it home at 3am, which is midnight my time (Arizona) safe and in one piece. 

Side Note: I took the "long cut" to avoid tornadoes and hail storms taking place in the two faster, more southern routes.  I plan to use one of the others though on my way home.  On the way back to Arizona I went the other way and you couldn’t imagine the damage I saw or the stories I heard.  But that’s another story.

American Pride

American Pride - An Essay for one of my Intercultural Competence Courses 
Taking pride in your work and having pride in yourself, is definitely a virtue.  Excessive pride to the point of arrogance is definitely a vice.  There is a safe middle ground, which most Americans think of when they hear the word pride.  
The pride of America is legendary.  In the beginning, America struggled through and out of hardships in their fight for independence from the British.   America possessed a passion, charm and determination that not only attracted the attention of the world's movers and shakers, but also literally drew people in by the thousands. 
As an American I see pride as an appreciation of what one can do.  Pride is an honest respect for our own abilities, potentials and values; it is about knowing your own strengths and having faith in them.  It is also an appreciation and acceptance of our own limitations with the understanding that some of these limitations can be overcome.  Pride is about having a strong sense of who you are.  
To most Americans, pride is linked with self-esteem and self-esteem precedes doing.  With out pride and self-esteem people would be afraid to move forward.  According to the Webster’s dictionary, pride is a feeling of self-respect and personal worth; self-esteem is a feeling of pride in yourself.  You can see how it is easy to see pride and self-esteem as interlinked.   
Of course there are limitations.  In excess, pride is a negative trait.  There has to be a careful balance between the two.  "Bad" pride is often called self-righteousness.
Another element of pride is the fact that it is common to be proud of other people.  Children, in America, are raised to be proud of themselves.  When a child does something good, a family member will tell him or her, “Oh, I am so proud of you.”  
When you think of Americans and pride, I am sure you think of the flag.  Shortly after September 11th, 2001 expressions of America’s pride rippled out all across the country.  There were many strong shows of patriotism such as flying the flag, wearing the flag, flag bumper stickers, flag hair beads, and flags, flags, flags!  People even reacted negatively to anyone they perceived to be unpatriotic.  But when the war in Iraq began, America became divided and to this day, America is still somewhat split in two.  Some people still go right along waving the flag, but others are not sure quite how to act.  They are proud of their country, they support the soldiers who are suffering in Iraq, they believe in who they are but they are very unhappy with what is going on now and see the flag as something that shows support of Bush.  Some Americans have taken down flags they had previously had flying in their yards for years.  The American flag holds a complex array of personal meanings; no two people quite look at it the same.  
Pride to an American is complex, but overall we see pride as a positive trait.  As the song says, “I am proud to be an American, at least I know I free.  I am going to stand up, face the day…” or “And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air; gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.  Oh say, does that stay spangled banner ever wave over the land of the free and the home of the brave.” We are very proud of where we came from and the people who built our nation.  Some of us are just not as proud of where we are going now.  Don’t mistake us as arrogant.  Our feelings of pride are deep rooted and complex.

House for Rent; Virginia

Somewhere in Virginia
HOUSE FOR RENT
Wanted, Renter - Adventurous style living in a small overcrowded shack of a room on a Construction Site
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Date: 2007-11-28
For Rent: Small fishing shack beside a creek with no water, on a construction site.
Location:  Still have not determined exactly where, in Virginia.
Price per Month: Free in exchange for your full time construction work expertise (It's about time you get some exercise and injuries, right?). You get the additional bonus of some supplemental pay, i.e. what ever you can scrape out of my parents after the contractors are paid $cha-ching! Here’s some more ¢ cents.
About the home:
-           Has had two additions and is in the process of undergoing a third.
-           The only livable part of the shack is the middle bedroom, with some very trendy up-to-date brick linoleum flooring from 20 years ago and an artistic wallpaper canvas of deer heads staring back at you in the night. Oh, might I add the real-life spider webs so there is no need for decorating when next years Halloween comes along. 
-           Neither prior addition had any design coherence or follows proper construction logic so everything needs to be torn out and done all over again.
-           The roof trusses were caving in, but have recently been repaired. Don’t worry, it wasn’t the one over your bed.
-           You will never lack of companionship in your bed at night, every spider for miles has moved into your room.
-           Believe it or not, it comes with a small bathroom, too! The sink always leaks and has tie-dye designs in the bowl which change every day. And there is an automatic coffee pot on the back lid of the toilet.
-           The closets come pre-filled with boxes of junk and very little clothes hanging space, which is perfect for those of you who think a small 1 bedroom is too big!
-           Work begins every morning at 8:00 a.m. and you do not have to go far. Well, some days, it begins at 8:10 a.m. (and other days 6:00 a.m.) but you will get the hang of knowing who comes when.
-           There is a lot of dust and falling debris. Don't worry though really. And watch out for all the nails on the floor – never walk in bare feet even when you forget your slippers after the shower. 
-           The house has an automatic perfumery to scent your hanging clothes, this month’s special scent – kerosene. Did I mention that the clothes hanger is the window curtain rod?
-           You will be required to get a tetanus shot on a monthly basis and life things that weigh more then you way with lots of nails and rail road spikes.
-           You have a pre-built confederate style hiding spot fence stack pile in your front yard made from an old barn you tore down somewhere in West Virginia. That spot is behind the very large green dumpster. A perfect hide out in case the world comes to an end.
-           You can drive 45 minutes down the street to the friendly people at Lowes and get yourself one of those trendy masks and face shields, and ask around for which isles the board stretchers, sky hooks and volt boxes can be found in. Then you can let them overcharge you and rack up your CC bill.
-           I suppose that I should disclose that there is a lot of noise right now. Nail guns, floor sanders, saws and hammering. You know, just the usual.
-           Darn it! My good conscience is telling me to tell you to be prepared for the neighbors, but how harmful can a guy be who dies and comes back to life all the time, isn’t afraid to admit it, and has the guts to steal a 20-year old used toilet seat off your front porch.
-           Everyone in the god damn town will start to wave at you! 

Let's see, what else can I add about this amazing find: There are no curtains on the windows so be careful about keeping your lights on at night and walking around the house half dressed. Every one driving by can see you. (Maybe that’s why they are all waving?)

The house is shrouded in darkness and at night you will hear weird things walking about on the roof and under your windows. Don’t worry though, prowlers may be able to circumvent security, but that’s what all the guns in your closet are for. 

Parking: Prime parking in front of the building is reserved for the construction crew, but you might be able to find parking in the grass or by 4x4ing through some field around vans and trucks. 

I suppose you'll know they are finally done when the cost of this reconstruction is passed through to you in the form of a rent increase.

Location:  Back in the woods across from hill-billy hollow and down the street from boonies  

Some where in the Mountains; Virginia

I sit alone in the dark listening to the noises of my jet black firebird settle in for the evening. A clinking, a rush of fluid and the distinctive smell of exhaust. Drops of rain fall from the leaves and clank hard on the roof top. All is dark around me except for the lights in the cabin. A line of trees reflects the yellow light coming from the cabin windows. Their trunks stretch up high into the dark before they disappear into nothingness. As my eyes adjust, I begin to make out the details. A small clearing past the woods line, where I know a small pond lays. The storage shed behind my car, the stone and cedar cabin with the big wood fireplace I fell in love with the first night. Something large falls down from the trees and catches my eye. I watch, memorized, out into the darkness. I hope I might see the bear.  In another world this place tucked away in the West Virginian mountains would be paradise. A little haven of peace, but it’s not always about what’s around you – it is also about chances, circumstances, and what at that time you feel inside. Those things have to be right to enjoy the rest of life. A steady rain falls down. We have not had a rain like this is a very long time. Come morning I will make a very big step of trust. 

Romney; West Virginia

I sit in a small café across from the Romney Court House. Three hobo’s chat on the bench across the street. Green, yellow, and red are the colors of their winter coats; like a traffic light they mold together in a mesh on the bench. This intersection is very busy, the corner of Rt. 28 and Rt. 50. It’s not at all like Europe here in this café… but it’s something. The coffee tastes the same a least and there are many more flavors available to add. But it is lacking the classy setting; here it is more country and home like.  I listen to the small talk of the local town kids and I watch the old military veterans strolling slowly down the street with their decorated hats and proud figure.  

I see a café Vienna emblem on the wall and fond memories come rushing back of all the afternoons tucked away in that special little hiding spot of mine outside school. A state trooper drives by outside, his flashing lights catching my eye through the window. I try to drink my coffee slowly and relax, coming to a café was a very pleasant memory of mine. Here the café is empty, but where I came from it would be brimming with people and long conversations about life till early in the morning. Who ever walks into the doorway smiles and says hi, although I know no one here. It's a small town feel but not like all small towns.

Sitting at this window I feel as if I am in a lighted fish tank where everyone can watch me as they pass on by. It's a horrible feeling being 'watched' and I quickly want to get out of there. There is a lot of readjusting for me to do here. 

Down in the fence post hole; Virginia

A new view deep down in a fence post hole

Home alone, while working construction, sure can get awfully lonely.  But while it may be lonely, it does give you a lot of time to think.

I was staring down in to the dark depths a fence post hole, while taking a breather.  It was the fence post hole that I was trying to dig.  But trying to dig a hole atop of what was once an old riverbed, now turned flood plain, by the edge of the road, in an open newly planted field… well it does not always go that easy.

But somewhere lost in the depth of the hole, my mind wrapped itself around the thought that this hole was a lot like life. To get to your ultimate goal, you first have to get through all the hard spots and sometimes it takes a lot of digging. You pry on one edge to try to loosen it up, something moves, but it doesn’t resolve anything – so then you need to go in at a totally different angle meaning that you take a new approach. Some move quickly, others don’t; but as long as you don’t give up, then you will always get through. And down somewhere in that hole there is always something amazing when you least expect it. That’s when I saw it, my little treasure, a glint of green beneath the soil. There was a very old beer bottle tucked away in hiding, in perfect shape and buried for who knows how long. And that I can say is like life.

And so the fence posts went up, the home is a little more of a home, and nothing stopped me from moving stones.

Southern Road Trip

Arizona Dreaming

A lone man looked my way.  He was standing beside his broken down pickup truck.  The sun was setting behind purple tinted mountains to the west.  It was giving off beautiful, vibrant red flame like hues.  Cactus and scrub brush stretched out as far as the eye can see, over the vast Arizona desert.

Gunshots in Alabama

A shot rang out in the campsite area.  I awoke, lying still inside my sleeping bag caught somewhere between dreams and reality.  It had been fired very close and I was a bit afraid.  Despite the fact that tent walls don’t do anything to protect against bullets, I didn’t dare unzip the tent.  Someone was out there shooting at the campsites. Four more shots ran out.  I didn’t hear anyone screaming, so I assumed no one was hurt.  Then there was silence, nothing more.

The Baseball Fish

I drove down a small sandy road until I could see the Gulf Coast.  It was low tide now and the shore was composed of mainly rocks.  Small brush covered islands dotted the banks and I saw a park up ahead.  I got out of the car and walked over to a small tidal pool where I started flipping rocks.

All sorts of crabs, snails, shrimp and fish had been caught here, when the tide went down.  I flipped over a larger rock and saw something that looked like a baseball sized rock, but was really a fish.  It opened its mouth to reveal tiny rows of teeth and flopped around in circles looking as if it was trying to just out of the water in a desperate attempt to bite off my hand.

I wanted to touch it, so I placed my thumb close to face to see what it would do.  It jumped up and latched down on my hand and I screamed, jumping back, in surprise.  It’s didn’t stay long attached to my thumb and flopped back into the water.  I had all of the fun I wanted with this fish and pushed him into the deep part of the tidal pool.

Gators All Around

I pulled into the entrance of the Big Cypress National Preserve.  Here you have easy access to the Everglades.  Everywhere else, there is a high chain link fence around the wildlife preserve.  
The sign at the entrance way had the words painted on it, ‘BEWARE!!!  You are entering a non-protected zone.  Enter at your own risk.’  The gate looked like something out of Jurassic Park.  It was 12 feet high and had a small break in it, with a gate, where you entered into another corridor and then had to open a second gate.  Alligator slide marks were all around the edges of the entranceway.  Plants with leaves the size of my head, hung all about.  It was obvious they were trying to keep things inside the Preserve, with this fence.  They were not too worried about keeping people out.

It was as if I had stepped back in time.  Flowers and plants I had never before laid eyes upon grew thick along the riverbanks.  Along the right snaked a small river; to the left was a bog. I took off through the reeds into the thick of the bog.  I was determined to find an alligator.  Small animal trails led everywhere and I knew it was only a matter of time.  The spongy earth gave way and I sunk down ankle deep in moss.  Then I saw it, those two little beady eyes rising up out of the bog.  It was a gator.

The Florida Keys – Ramrod Key

At last I had made it.  I desperately wanted to explore the beach, so I pulled out my flashlight the second I stopped the car.  I could barely see a thing; it was so dark this far down the island.  I headed towards the water and rolled up the legs of my pants.  There was hardly any beach at all, but the water was clear and calm.  I stepped into the ocean, letting my body adjust to the cold.

I shined the flashlight to the ocean surface and masses of small fish raced to the top.  They gathered round my legs, nipping at the edges of my sandals thinking they were something good to eat.  I started walking down the coast.  A large dark object lifted out of the sand and darted into the ocean.

What was that? I thought to myself.  Then I saw another.  They were huge stingrays, which were resting along the banks.  You could get pretty close and then they would glide right by you, into the deep.  Small hermit crabs also were walking along the tide line; everything was so clean and clear.  A horseshoe crab waddled by me.  A thin dart like fish rammed into the side of my leg.  At last I was in, the Florida Keys

The Creepy Dream

I was so tired that I could hardly move.  I pushed open the door of the car to get out.  I was in a small parking lot of one of the islands, right off the coast of the Florida Keys.  It was nighttime now and the only light came from the dim light of the moon.

A dark figure began fast approaching me.  I wanted to pull the door of the car shut, but I couldn’t move.  Now he was just a few feel from me, I was struggling with the door.  He came to me, hovering above me and looked down into my eyes.  I gasped and lost my breath.  Then I woke up, I was sweating all over.  I didn’t dare roll down the windows of the car.

Arkansas Waffle House

Everyone looked like the typical back woods swamp hick you think about from all those Louisianan movies.  Three guys with camouflaged, bucket brimmed hats sat in the front.  They had very heavy accents.  One guy in the back, though, sat alone in the far right corner of the restaurant.  I nicknamed ‘Dahmer,’ after Jeffrey Dahmer.  Staring blankly ahead, he looked just like a serial killer.  He kept glancing over at me from time to time.  Every look sent a chill up my spine.

He had chestnut colored hair that fell down into his dark brown eyes.  He had a simple look about him, but also a kind of crazy and deadly look.  He was the kind of person you knew would truly scare you if you could see the thoughts that passed through his mind.

Now he was staring at me and he wouldn’t stop.  I could sit there no longer; I couldn’t even stay to finish my meal.  I got up, placed some money on the table and walked out to the car.  His eyes followed my every step.  He never looked away and when I pulled out, I never looked back.

Black Out; New York City

To New York City in a WHIRL.... The Arrival   

I am headed to Maryland to visit my family.  I am just passing Gallup, New Mexico.  A beautiful rainbow spans across my horizon as I head east on I-40.  It's raining now and the clouds have opened up in one spot in which a circle of light shines down through them, to the desert sand.  From it a rainbow is cast up maybe 150 feet in width.  It disappears again into the clouds, with the end nowhere in sight.

Do you know who murdered me? I read aloud off of a sign.  She had long, curly brown hair and looked to be about my age.  She disappeared on a trip like mine, a victim of the road… a chance crime.  Now only her face lives plastered to a signboard as a reminder to travelers like me.

I am in Tennessee now.  Two Brooks and Dunn (Country Music singers) trucks just passed me by.  I am riding down "Music Highway".  A blue and white car with the lettering GRACELAND and THE KING license plate is beside me now, with a Latino Elvis impersonator in the front seat.  He has very thick, slicked-back, black hair and his girl friend is beside him.  What possesses people to try to be Elvis I will never understand... couldn't they at least pick someone like Brad Pitt?  Walking in Memphis is playing in the background; I am flying past swamps and thick groves of trees.  Ah, green at last… a welcome change from the parched red dirt of the Arizona desert.
It was about 2:30am (Thursday, August 14th) when I arrived in Maryland.  I called my mom on my cell phone (she did not know I was coming to Maryland) and told her to go to the front door. 

"Are you showing me Mars?" she asked. 

"Augh, yes!" I replied, "What do you see?" I asked her.  I slowly pulled forward with my headlights off. 

"I think I see Mars,” she told me and I asked her what else she saw out there?  She looked over at the dark truck slowly pulling forward and said, "Is that you? Is that really you?" Yes I said and ran over and gave her a hug. 

Blackout in New York City

I arrived less then 24 hours after the blackout first occurred.  It's Friday now, early evening, and I am entering New York City.  The city is dark and eerie in a way... quite strange with out all the flashy lights that I am accustomed to.  Holland Tunnel... ok, that way. 

No other cars are on the road now, I wonder if the tunnel is even open?  Things are very quiet; I slowly make my way towards Times Square.  I parked and decided to walk around downtown Times Square, it's about 2am and I am still wide- awake (too much coffee). 

I finally decide to take a walk through the notorious Central Park.  I am feeling brave tonight and I have never walked through Central Park at this time of night before.  Half of the park lights are still out… the darker it gets the less brave I feel, but I keep going.  I make my way by a group of homeless people (sleeping at the edge of the park) one looks up and says hi.  Next I pass 3 people who are wasted and smoking weed (also drinking liquor).  One of the guys is screaming out things that I am sure are unrecognizable to even his friends.  He pauses to look up at me, I keep walking and he goes on hollering. 

I make my way across the street and down towards the pond and skating rink. There are no lights here now and I walk very cautiously... every nerve is on edge and I can feel my heart beating through my shirt.  A twig snaps, a can falls... I jump!  People are all around me in the dark.  I walk on.  I get to a small open area by a lamppost and sit down to draw and write.  Slowly my heart goes back to normal… its not so bad. 
An hour passes and I wander around a bit more before making my way back out of the park.  As I am exiting, the same homeless man who had said hi to me before says to me "you have a lot of nerve!” 

"Why?" I ask him. 

"Because you were walking around Central Park for hours in the dark!  Alone!" 

So he noticed, I thought to myself. 

"Weren't you scared?  I only dare sleep on the edge of the Park... I don't even venture in after dark!" he said. 

"No, it wasn’t that bad" I told him, “I have been thru worse.” 

After a little chat (he was actually a really cool guy) I departed and headed out towards Times Square, McDonalds should be open now.  Only a few more hours to go till morning, I will bide my time at McD’s.

"NO WAR, NO WAR" shouted protestors in a park north of Canal Street.  I stopped to watch the old Vietnam Veterans parade around with hand painted signs about this being another Vietnam, along with all the hippies holding up peace signs.  A speaker shouted out stuff… that I hate to say, but 1/2 of the time did not even make sense.  They were preparing for a huge “Anti-Police State” march on the 13th of September. 
Other people stood around with signs reading Support Palestine and giving away pamphlets.  Grass roots groups had small booths with underground newspapers being passed out; I picked up a few and went on my way.

It was so hot and humid inside the building; people were pressed close together waiting for the ferry.  Someone began throwing up in the corner of the building; they must have had too much to drink.  Everyone backed off in disgust.

Soon I will be able to get on the Ferry and escape the heat.  I waited until everyone else had boarded and we stepped on the back-end of the Ferry.  The Ferry took off into the harbor; a cool breeze was blowing at last.  To my left I could see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island (where my Swiss family first came to the states through).  The sun was beginning to set, the city is still only half lit.  Things were quite dark, an amazing sight.  I was lucky to be offered this rare view of the city tonight. 

When I got back out to my truck, it refused to start.  It must have been all that crazy city driving I have been doing (close call after close call, but that’s NYC for ya!)  or all the potholes.  A guy on the street joked, “that the city was trying to keep me” and then he gave me a jump-start, now I just must be sure that I do not stop my truck before I get back to Maryland (it was my vanity mirror that had been on all day that caused the battery to go out). 

Amazingly, after going back to Maryland… I made it home to Arizona in 1 1/2 days (it's a 2,500 mile journey averaging 3 days).  It was worth the trip.

Ronald Regan Funeral Procession; Washington DC

June 9th in Washington, DC...

I stepped out of the Metro Rail and people all around me began running. I wasn't even sure where I was going yet, but I decided to run too. Some people only ran for but a few steps and then slowed to a fast walk... a few, including me, ran on. I wasn’t sure if I was heading in the right direction and part of me wanted to stop and pull out the map. But why else would people be running like this. My  Nike sandals clapped rapidly against the pavement as I followed two men.  We jumped a curb and ran up a steep grassy embankment.

A narrow street, (somewhere around 3rd and 4th) which was partially closed off because of construction, stretched off to my right. A small crowd had gathered at the bottom and was positioned about 10 feet behind a yellow strand of police tape. I ran right down the middle of the ‘double yellow line’ and slipped my way up through the crowd to the front. People were standing anywhere they could: hanging off fences, atop of concrete slabs, on their tip-toes at the edge of the curb and even construction workers watched the street from on top of the building above me. We all were straining in anticipation, to see what was going on.

I was now in view of Constitution Avenue. Masses of spectators lined the streets. I was one of the lucky ones; where I stood I had a clear view of Constitution Avenue. First I saw the military units marching by, followed by a band.
"Here comes the flyover!" a man shouted. We all looked up to see one of many (21 to be exact) military aircraft speeding by overhead. Everyone was silent around me; all you could hear was the clicking of cameras over the loud jets.

Dark black cars, with windows like a moonless night, drove by. Walking along side of them were government escort agents (FBI, CIA, SS) with small cords stretching out of their jackets, up to their ears. Army, Navy, Marine and Air force enlisted soldiers lined the intersections standing at the military position of attention. Beside them were the Metro DC Police Officers, who walked back and forth talking on walkie-talkies, scanning the crowd with their eyes. 

Then the horses came into view. I could hear people clapping in the distance on the other side of the street. None of the people around me could see anything yet because the construction crew’s (the one above me) barricade walls were blocking our view. Two-by-two the horses came into view, slowing passing us by. At their sides were soldiers from all branches of the US military. Then we saw it, the caisson. It was a moment to remember for all times. Atop it lay the casket in which Ronald Reagan was placed, draped over it was a United States flag. The people around me began clapping, I clapped... but others did not.

One dark colored horse lagged in the back; it was rider-less. Every one stopped to watch it; it was prancing about back-and-forth being led by a nervous young Marine. In the saddle stirrups were two tan leather boots, which were placed backwards. It was to symbolize a ‘fallen’ soldier. This was the last time he looked behind to scan his troops. I guess Reagan was looking over us one last time too.

A lone drummer soon could be seen following the procession, then a few black funeral cars. Suddenly it was over. "Get back to work!" a man shouted from above. "The shows over!" It was the construction crew.

I walked up the street towards the Capital Building, passing monuments where people stood posing for pictures. Some people were picking up blankets, shaking off grass; others were calling out for their lost friends. News crews and camera men/woman ran back and forth doing live interviews. A crowd of people clustered around an old man in a wheelchair holding a small television. I squeezed in where I could listen; to be sure nothing bad was going on. Everyone one was watching Ronald Reagan's wife, Nancy, go into the building  LIVE. I paused for but a moment listening.

I then headed up the hill towards some cannons I could see through the trees. I waited beside a tree where I could get a good view and called my mom. We had only talked for but a second when the first shot rang out. "BOOM!" Then 20 more times, shots followed.  Smoke billowed up, out into the air.  I wanted to call all of my friends so that they could experience this with me.  But in but a moment it would all end.

From the hilltop I could see crowds of people, filling the walkway leading to the Capital building where Reagan's body now lay. Past that, both sides of the Mall were lined with mobile news units. There were trucks, vans and some vehicles I could not identify all over the place... WGAL NEWS 8, PSSI, 11 MOBILE NEWS. Then there were the tour buses.  

Ropes for the funeral procession line stretched as far down the Mall as I could see. Centrally located was a Marine First Aide Station. Red Cross vehicles were also present. An orange and black sign flashed WELCOME TO THE US CAPITAL / ITEMS NOT ALLOWED / FOOD, BOTTLES, FLOWERS, BACKPACKS / PLEASE TURN OFF PHONES. I sat down on a park bench. Small pictures and Reagan memorials began to spring up everywhere. Many were from school children; I paused to admire a few.
The sun was beginning to set behind the Smithsonian buildings, setting off an orange glow in the sky. The weather was pleasant and I though to myself that you could not have asked for a nicer evening in Washington, DC.

Camera crews began setting up their lights for nighttime interviews and live coverage. Two men (reporters) in suits sat near me on a bench tapping rapidly away on their keyboards, lost in their thoughts. How I longed to me out of school and joining up with them.  A Navy Admiral in his dress whites passed by me silently, with his family.  He looked over at me sitting alone, as if he knew I was one of them (the military).  I stood up and headed towards the live news crews. Passing by them I flashed through station by station.

All of a sudden sirens could be heard everywhere. I looked around and police cars were taking off all around me. Something was happening. But soon enough they died down and things returned to normal. (I later found out that it was a plane flying in restricted air space that had a broken radio... I am sure you heard about the mess when everyone ran out of the Capital building!)

Generator lights were coming on now, stretched out along the sandy walkway of the Mall. I grabbed at a small piece of police tape to take back home as a memento and crossed over Constitution Ave. I headed back up the hill, towards the Metro station; then up a small street the police had blocked off.
"Can I go this way?" I asked two officers.

They looked at me and said "hummm... for a fee," in a joking manner. One guy looked at the size of my backpack and said "WOW! What is in that thing? It's huge."

"Oh," I said "my shoes, suit jacket, a book, camera, 4 water bottles and a purse!" I smiled.

"Back away from her, let her through! She could kill us with that thing, I can tell looking at the size of it. It's a weapon in its own right." They smiled and let me go by.

By the time I reached the Metro it was empty. I stepped inside and grabbed a discarded newspaper from under my seat and read a story about recent assaults at night on the same Metro Rail line I was on. I looked out the window hoping to catch some of the fading city lights, though all I could see was the glare of my reflection shining back at me.

Get Away Lane; Virginia

Thoughts a Block past Getaway Lane

The bitter wind hits my face as I step out of the front door of the Virginia house.  Yesterday had been like a warm summer day but today the sky was threatening rain, the wind blowing cold, and sharp wet sprinkles were raining down from the heavens.  

Green fields dotted with black Angus, a rolling mountain backdrop, red oak barns with dairy cattle, striped planting fields, an American flag blowing in the breeze on a pole, turkey feathers like cotton puffs of the south lining the sides of the roads, country road curves, people waving, and golden fields of grasses.  This is Virginia.  This is West Virginia.  This is where I spend a short part of my life. This is a place which will always hold memories for me.

Could this be one of my last trips down this road? I play with memories – after all they are the flavors of life. Some sweet, some sour, some like that candy in that little foreign shop that you can never find again. I savor the moments of these memories I have had. I would stay awake all night long, if I could just keep within that moment.

 It begins to snow as I drive on into the dark of the night.  A halo of clouds circles the moon.  I remember a quote: "Most people are scared of change but change is something you can always count on and if you look at it that way, it can actually be a comfort." 

The Toilet Seat Thief; Virginia

I know what you did and I know who you are; you live across the street from me.

One of the guys who was working here on Saturday, well he told me what you did. That little ‘I love you’ yarn dream catcher you gave him, he did see through it. And let me warn you, that man also comes armed with a nail gun. I have seen him in action; I know what he can do.

 I also know about the moldy carpet you stole out of my dumpster. Shame on you, may the mold spread through your house like it did in mine. May it bring you many pleasant nights of coughs and mornings of red eyes.

I warn you again, I know where you live. I have been in your house once and it scared the begezzes out of me, I won’t go back there. The amount of time you talked on and on to me alone about your life after death experiences was enough for an eternity of a life time and death in mine.  

But don’t you dare step back onto this property! No excuses either like, “I was only picking up trash.” Let it blow I say! Cause it’s all blowing over to your side of the street.

And no sneaking up on the people working here. Staring at them for long periods of time in silence puts them a little on edge and have you seen what a tough muscular guy on edge can do with a sawzall? Speaking of that, have you see what I can do with a sawzall! Just look at what came to be the fate of those darn tree limbs.

If you do come here, well I will turn loose that ferocious 14-year old dog that scared you so badly, yet could hardly walk, can't really see and wouldn’t have hurt a flea. And let me just add that she was the old one; wait till you meet the pup. Then you will really tremble in your shoes.

Your fake Elvis room, those millions of little doilies stack after stack, the clay molded painted Indians on your mantel, the thousands glass of angels, and all your other really weird collections – be them under plastic wrap or in boxes - they won’t scare me away.

I know your kind. You revealed it to me on the very first day I met you, when you told me how you had died and come back to life three times. And then you added in the story about when you were alive and heard people chanting in tongues around you with black smoke, well I think that just told me everything I need to know. You’re a nut case.

And so, you, the man who stole my toilet seat… know that if you come back here ever again – alive or dead - you will have to deal with me and the deadly tool skills that the group of fearless contractors (aka the guys) taught me over the past few months. They have left many weapons lying around the house in wait so I am prepared for you in which ever room you might spring up in, in an attempt to try and steal more of my worthless old junk.

Navajo Nation; Arizona

Somewhere in the Navajo Nation, Monument Valley....

One can’t help but wonder how people survived out here.  Torn from their native homeland grounds and thrown onto unwanted, government assigned land.  Harassed by the U.S. Calvary and provided blankets saturated with the chicken pox virus.  Despite it all, the Native Americans still endured.       

They were known as savages, despised by many settlers and are still oppressed today.  One only has to look out their car window to see what they are still going through; or better yet speak with an elder to learn some of their stories. 

The desert stretches out as far as the eye can see.  Parched, dry soil and red rocks make up this landscape.  Clumps of dry grass cling to the unfertile earth hoping not to be swept away by the fierce wind.  A gray plateau can be seen off in the distance; shadows along the rock walls hint at its depth.  We pass through Red Lake.  It is a small oasis, in stark contrast to the harsh desert around it.  Thought there is no water present; it is green and alive with Cottonwood trees.  Two rock pillars stretch up to the sky side-by-side as if they are a gateway to another earth. 

We have reached Monument Valley.  After stopping for a wonderful Navajo style lunch where the John Wayne movies were filmed, we head to the park.  The dirt road stretches for 18 miles and the sign reads to proceed at your own risk.  Fingers of stone reach for the heavens, their bases dotted with neon green clumps of grass.  Some of the fingers merge together creating great pillars of stone randomly scattered through out the desert.  Hollows, swirls and casket shaped indentations scar the rock walls. 

I stepped out to get a photograph and hike up beside one that looked like a horse head (reminding me of carvings I had seen in Austria).  Someone’s car keys lay on the ground before me, so I pick them up to take back to the visitors’ center.  I snap a photograph as a dust storm races towards me… hurling pebbles and blinding sand into my eyes.  Dust devils can be seen scattered about around us, like mini tornadoes they twirl and dance about.

We begin our three-hour drive back home under the blazing hot sun.  It feels good to finally arrive home to the cool mountain air of Flagstaff, Arizona.

Motorcycling to Mexico

I decided that the weather was too great to spend the weekend at home; so I headed off towards Mexico on my motorcycle.  Now in the summer heat of Arizona, you stick to the high country with the cool air and the pines.  I headed south on Route 3, passing lake after lake and letting my hair out in the breeze.  Soon I saw signs for roadwork up ahead and to my horror was peppered with small rocks and tar for 2 miles. 

When it finally ended I pulled over to take a break and cars and trucks kept turning around to ask if I was ok (I think they were just amazed to see a girl on a big motorcycle way out there all alone).  It was just the pines and I out there on the road together and I easily made my way onto route 87 towards Payson, and then route 188 to Lake Roosevelt.

I though of my brother (he’s in Iraq) as the scenery turned from Ponderosa pines to Saguaro cacti.  Arizona looks surprisingly similar to places I have visited in the Middle East.  Even on my last trip to Greece, when I toured one of the islands by moped (very much like this trip) I could have sworn I was in Arizona.  With nothing more than my thoughts about Andrew, to occupy me, my eyes soon became blurry with tears and worries.  I had to shake it off so I could see to drive.
Up ahead was a large group of motorcycles; I sped up so as to join them.  They waved me up into the crowd and for once I had some company on the road.  Soon I left them and turned off onto a road heading east.  I stopped for gas at a gas station I knew all too well.  I used to come here all the time to go out on my Quad with friends and be forced to sing karaoke at the small bar.  Being that I was the only one who stayed sober, thankfully only I would remember it all in the morning.
I went into the bar there to use the restroom, since there was none at the gas station.  A drunken lady came in behind me and kept trying to open my stall door before she went to the empty one beside me.  As I wiped bugs off my face-shield, she came out and kept trying to get soap out of the empty soap dispenser when there was a full bottle on the sink (clear as day).  I shut-up and minded my own business, then left with a sigh of relief being that none of those problems were a part of my life. 

As I came into the city of Globe, it was nearing sunset.  I was hot, sore, covered in bugs and decided this was far enough south for me, (I was only a little more than ½ way to Mexico) so I headed north on route 77.  As the sun began to set, it cast a beautiful orange glow over the mountains and green prairie around me.  This was a beautiful stretch of the highway, with deer and other animals all around.  I carefully dodged butterflies and was now and then stung by the blow of a beetle on my bare skin, which at 65 mph is more comparable to a baseball!  (Now that’s a tongue twister.)

Soon the sun was barely visible and the mountain road had become steep and twisty.  I pulled over to the cliff side and looked down.  Horrified, I took a gulp and watched as car sped by me.  Was I to cross this twisted mountain road in pitch dark?  The air had now grown cold and I got back on my bike praying no drunks would run me off the side of the mountain.  Somehow, I made it.  I pulled over for gas and saw that it had been a slow Mac truck that had been my savior.  All the vehicles behind me had been kept at bay thanks to the speed at which it had to climb the mountain.   A sign read 29 miles to Show Low, two people began to fight beside me… I hopped on my bike and made it into town. 

At 50 miles an hour and in the dark, 29 miles seems like eternity.  The wind plays games with you blowing hot and cold air around.  But finally I pulled into town.  I saw a carnival, could no longer feel my fingers and pulled up into it for some coffee.  A group of 7 teenage boys sat in a van beside me and soon began asking if I would give them a ride.  They were all bigger than me, so I told them sorry but it would have had to be the other way around.  I asked it there were any cheap hotels around and contemplated sleeping beside my bike on the road.  But I settled for bargaining down the price at one of them and got a room for the night (40$ + tax down to 27$ flat, not too bad considering the states are really not a place you can bargain hotels in). 

I got up at 8am the next morning and stopped for a bite to eat.  I swear that kids are drawn to motorcycles like magnets.  Everyone has to run over to it and touch it, or they want to sit on it with me and get a picture.  After entertaining some kids I took off down route 77 towards Holbrook. 

Route 77 was a long empty highway.  Red dirt, rocks, dead grass, the occasional lone calf, stray dogs eating dead animals and vultures were all that marked the landscape (you have to honk at the vultures or they will fly right into you on a motorcycle with something dead in their beaks).  I was relieved to get into Holbrook (a cute Western style town, the kind that looks to be straight out of those old Western movies) and then hopped on I-40 for the last stretch of road home. 

Now I hate I-40.  It’s fast going and windy.  I picked up to 85mph so as to keep up with traffic, ducked my head low to stay in profile with the motorcycle and out of the wind and sped onward.  Gusts of wind would hit me so hard that I had to ride at an angle so as to stay upright.  Soon I felt something, which felt like rain, but there was not a cloud in the sky?  Oh no, it was a livestock truck up ahead.  How disgusting!  I picked up 90mph so as to get it over with as fast as possible and looked in the side of the truck.  It was a bunch of pigs!  (And then I hit two more trucks just like it.)  Shower time when I step in my door.

Smoke… billows of smoke filled the sky.  There was a large range fire up ahead.  I pulled over on the highway to look around in amazement.  My skin was orange; the sun was this odd color and the world around me looked surreal.  I bet this is what it will look like when the world comes to an end.  I took a few pictures as trucks kept beeping at me as they passed by, then watched in my rear view mirror as I left it all behind.  Pretty soon, I was home. 

No more trips on my motorcycle, to Mexico… at least.

The Tonight Show; Winslow, Arizona

Somewhere in a firearms warehouse...

 ‘Finally’... I sighed to myself.  At last I was able to take a break from the excessive calls we were receiving in the customer service department.  I filled up my little red plastic cup with some ice-cold water and strolled to the other side of the shop to relax.  Just as I sat down, I heard something coming from outside the door.  "BANG, BANG, BANG!"  Very few people knocked on this door and the ones who did were normally just employees who had locked themselves out and also the FedEx man. I pulled open the door to see who it was and there was a whole group of people and a camera crew outside.  They were poised and ready to film.

"Hi, I’m Tom Green with the Tonight Show!" said a tall lanky man with ruffled brown hair.

"OK, one second." I answered back.  I closed the door part way and glanced around the shipping room floor. The place was a mess from today’s firearms shipment that had just come in and there were boxes everywhere. A whole mountain of boxes lay just inside the doorway and there were gun parts scattered all about. I hurried around to the office, still keeping the door in view.

"Andrew, Andrew!" I shouted to my brother, "Tom Green is here."  He looked up at me as if it were a joke… in a ‘yeah right, I know what you are up to’ sort of way and then went on typing on his computer.

"Sure." he answered back, "I am real busy right now with a customer." I turned to Joe. "Joe!" I said, "Tom Green is here." This time they both looked up, surely I wouldn’t be playing a joke on the two of them. The three of us wandered back over to the door and there stood Tom Green. More people had now joined the camera crew.

"We are searching the state of Arizona, for Arizona's most interesting person," a camera man said, "and we would like to do an interview with you guys."  "Sure," said Joe, "come right on into the shop." They walked through the door and I watched as their eyes darted everywhere.  People could look at things for hours on end in this shop and never get bored. Every cubby hole held unique little things; there were tiny pieces of weapons, large machine guns, gas masks, other weapons that are bigger then me, survival gear, automobile parts and fun miscellaneous things (that I still to this day cannot even name) laying around. Gray-shelf after gray-shelf, held ‘weapon’ after ‘weapons!’ Andrew and I, were of course used to it by now… but these guys had I am sure had never seen anything quite like it.

They quickly set up and grabbed Joe amidst the piles of boxes for an interview. First they asked personal information such as the name of the shop, Joe's name, age and how he got started. Then they got into the weapons.

Tom Green grabbed one. "What's this? Who's this one made by?" he asked. "Oh, that one is by Vector arms." Joe answered back. "That must be located in Vectorville." Green spat back, trying to cut a joke. On and on he rambled. "Whom do you sell these things to? Can I buy one?" He then pulled some money out of his wallet and tried to hand it to Joe. "Only dealers." Joe said, "I can’t sell it to you." "Drug Dealers? You sell these to drug dealers?" prodded Green. "No, no... Firearms dealers only." Joe confidently said.

Andrew began rummaging around on a nearby shelf. The two of us passed Joe a 1919 A4 weapon. The one I include in the category of "weapons bigger then me." It is so heavy! (Trust me and check out the picture.)  I can't hold it up for any period of time, unless I rest it on my hip. Carefully I passed it through to Joe. 

Green grabbed it. "Woooooo, it is heavy,” he said and cut another joke. "This would be great for hunting Elk! A gun like this would tear right through them. Or should I say rabbits? That would be even better."

A box rattled in the background and Andrew tossed up a 50BMG, right in the cameras spotlight. Next was the German Gas Mask. Green tried to pull it over his head. He slipped the tight gray plastic hood on to the back of his head and pulled down. It stretched as far as his nose and was stuck. "How do I get it on?" he asked.

Joe began to tug it down a bit, but it would not move another inch. Then he tried to pull it back off, but it was stuck on his nose! The two of them pulled back and forth, with Green's head bobbing up and down. It wouldn't budge. After one good yank, it came off and Joe showed Green the proper way to put it on, which is chin first.
"Yanuch... yealso... errahk..." and a few other weird sounds came forth from the mask. Finally he was talking though it properly, but one still could just barely make out what he was saying behind the mask. Joe then put another one on and the two of them talked back and forth in ‘Gas Mask Lingo.’

It concluded with some funny voice impersonations and one camera retake. Then they were off. We were no good for the rest of the day, after that, none of us could even think about work. One guy commented, "After Tom Green's visit, well it all goes down hill from here." 

Soon, my cell phone began insistently ringing. I ignored it because I was trying to finish up some work. Then Andrew's phone rang and right after it Joe's phone rang too. Joe picked up. It was the Tonight Show; they had left their sign here. This sign had been with them on the whole trip and they said that they couldn't loose it now. In large black lettering it read  The Tonight Show, Most Interesting Person. There was a bullet hole (dead center) and a large jagged knife slit down one side.

"Where are you?" Joe asked. "OK, Flagstaff, yes... we will be there in one hour." I grabbed the sign and ran out to my brother’s metallic gold Mustang, which was parked out front. I hopped in the back and placed the sign up against the back windshield (just for kicks). Andrew and Joe were right behind me.  We all smiled, it was one of those ‘if you could only see me now’ kind of smiles. "Stop now for gas." Joe told Andrew.  "No, we can make it all the way! WE CAN DO IT!" he shouted back in a sadistic, joking like, tone of voice. The gold Mustang roared into action and the gas light flickered on E. We were on our way to Flagstaff. 

We hit I-40 and picked up speed. A guy in a large white truck waved at us and gave us the thumbs up. We smiled again.  Joe pulled out his 3 types of hair gel and went to work.  Fifty miles passed and we pulled off onto an exit for gas. The car was revving oddly; we could tell it was almost out of gas. Andrew pulled into the gas station and came to a halt.  "Lets do this NASCAR style!" Joe said as he jumped out of the car. "Andrew, other side... the gas tank is on the other side!" Joe shouted. Andrew pulled the car around again, but the tank was still on the same side.

"You have to back in." I gasped (barely able to speak since I was laughing so hard in all of the confusion). Joe put in $5.00 worth and jumped back into the car. He now smelled of gasoline (being that he tried to pull the nozzle out of the pump a little too soon). We had one minute to be there, next stop... Galaxy Diner.  (Then came the breath mints, the insistent picking at the edges of a small black bag and oh yeah, more hair gel. - Joe)  

We pulled into the parking lot to see a crowd of people amassed around a stage. Everyone was watching people on stage trying to impress Tom Green, the crowd and the camera crew with the amazing things they could do. I held up the sign and saw Tom Green look my way. He knew we were here. I put the sign back down and stared up at Tom Green, just as everyone else was doing.

There was a man up there on the guitar playing weird music. Tom Green was glancing side to side at his staff, the crowd and then back at the guitar player. A member on the crew jotted down on a small piece of paper that he was  ‘scared to stop him!’ Tom Green looked as if he didn't know quite what to think. He looked annoyed and as if he could barely tolerate this whole event. Then he looked down at the microphone and shouted "Alright!" Next a large guy came up on stage and spoke of eating jelly off his toes in a Speedo (scary thought, he was a pretty big guy).

A man in a tacky purple suit selling water passed by me, distracting my eyes from Tom Green. Then I saw Mike again, the Public Relations crew guy for the Tonight Show (and of course Tom Green).

"Thank you, thank you..." Mike said, "They almost had my ass!" He caught us by surprise, being that he was in jeans and a t-shirt just wandering around in the crowd. "We have a tab running in the Galaxy Diner and would like to treat you guys to dinner." Of course we said yes. How could anyone refuse? So we spent the night having dinner courtesy of the tonight show.  While the guys talked to Tom Green, I spent most of the evening talking Public Relations with Mike. And the story continued...  

A Weekend of Mud; Tonto National Forest, Arizona

It was a weekend of wheelies and water, sunburn and fun.  Six trucks were pulled out of the river by my friend’s Jeeps, who had dared venture too far out into the sand (Including my own truck, with only a rope tied to the tow straps!).  We ventured miles up river casting waves of water about as we romped from side to side.  After a long day it was time to head back to camp and have some fun on the quad's and railcar (A pole-built / cage-type car with a big engine.).  

The railcar pulled back up into the RV site... "who's next" a voice shouted.  

A friend looked towards me, smiled and said, "you are, besides you only live once". 

I sat down beside Tommy whose wife ran up to pull the kids back.  He was driving.  We both struggled with the muddy seatbelt straps, trying to get them adjusted.  Mike pulled his Jeep up behind us and pushed us off (the rail won't start with out a push due to some mechanical problems). 

We flew down the hill, the rail sputtered to a start and we tore up the next hill in sight.  We flew up so fast that before we even realized it was a dead end, we flew off the other side into the desert.   WHAM!  We hit a barrel cactus... I slid my body side to side trying to miss cactus branches and brush... then we saw the road.  

First stop... ‘Widow Maker’ (Rightfully named, this is a hill fit to kill! It literally goes straight up and people line up at the bottom to watch the few and the daring, earlier today I had watched a man be air-evak'ed out, when he rolled his dirt bike).  We flew across the ‘sand bar’ till we reached Widow Maker and saw that it was clear.  We tore up the hill in third... 3/4ths of the way up we realized that we were in too low of a gear and started to stall.  Tommy put it in neutral to try to shift, the brakes gave out and we flew back down the hill at breakneck speed.  Enough of that... we headed to the "pit".
The ‘pit’ is a huge mud hole in the middle of the ‘sand bar.’  People also line up here to watch just how dirty one dares to get.  Mike’s Jeep and a truck were already playing around in it, they cleared the way as we came up.  Tommy slammed the gas and we tore into it, he pulled the wheels left and right and mud flew up everywhere!  A huge chunk flew up into his mouth and before I could even laugh... I got my own taste of it too.

Back and forth, time and time again we went... we were covered head-to-toe in mud; a small group cheered us on.  Then the clutch began to give so we pulled out to head back to camp.  We got a lot of looks and laughs heading back.  As we came into the final stretch, we had to take a sharp turn and the back tire blew.  Then the clutch burned out.  We got out, both laughing and a mess (I looked to be having a mud type of wet t-shirt contest) and pushed the rail to the side of the road.  We walked back to camp with quite a story to tell.

Diwali; Phoenix, Arizona

Today marked the first day of a five day celebration called Diwali, or “the festival of lights.”  Diwali is celebrated throughout the world by Hindus, Sikhs, Jains and curious others. To many, Diwali marks the start of a new year and the start of a new beginning.  Diwali is a time to forgive and forget, to promote unity and charity and to bring people together. 

Diwali is meant to, “vanquish the ignorance that subdues humanity and to drive away darkness that engulfs the light of knowledge.” I was told.   The word Diwali is an abbreviated form of the word Deepavail, deepa meaning light and avail meaning row (row of light.)  Small diyas (earthen lamps) are lit in homes which will burn by the windows all night, small powdered footprints are placed to guide the way and families are brought together.  This is done to welcome the God Lakshmi to ones home. 

There are many ‘slight’ variations in the way Diwali is practiced region to region, but the central focus remains the same.  Each day of the five-day celebration is practiced differently and holds a different meaning. This year I celebrated Diwali with the Kannada Sangha of Arizona.  The evening began with the United States and Indian national anthems symbolizing where one was today, but more importantly where one comes from.  Next a puja (prayer) dance was preformed followed by a traditional dance called the Purva Ranga Vidhi, which is customarily preformed in the Mysore palace (India.) 

I closed my eyes and the music flowed into me taking me back to another time.  I could hear the “clack, clack, clack” of the train rolling along the tracks and green rice patties passed by behind closed eyes.  I was awakened back into the room by loud applause. Now it was time for the Mahalakshimi dance, inviting the Goddess Lakshmi into ones home for blessings of wealth and prosperity. A lively and colorful tribal dance from India’s southern state of Karnataka shook up the group next with twirling young dancers.  Purandara Dasa Krithi, or the Lord Shiva dance (God of mercy and compassion, the balancer of good and evil) was preformed describing Lord Shiva in various forms.  The celebration ended with a dance nicknamed the Rangeela, (colors of the wind) which consisted of close to a dozen couples dressed in various colors who celebrated the vibrant colors we find in our everyday life and how they enhance the objects they represent.  These dancers showed very well how colors could take on a new life.  Rangeela is also the name of a popular Bollywood musical.

The night closed with a large south Indian feast, the sounds of happy children and my respect for a celebration known as Diwali.

Kayaking the Little Colorado

River bound.

Day 1
It was time.  The 2 kayaks were dropped off at our starting point and the truck was safe at the finish.  Now the only question for Sandra and I was, how to get 60 miles back up the road to where Hanna was waiting with the kayaks.  Hitchhiking was our answer (we made a little sign that said, kayaking - need lift to highway and I carried my loaded handgun along in my pocket, with my concealed weapon permit, to be even more assured of our safety). 

The first two rides, who picked us up, were normal enough… just 2 guys with really loud heavy metal music and before that one rich Californian family.  Next two guys who had no seat in the back of their car offered us a ride.  There was only a tire and they were picking us up to hit on us, so we said no. 

Then a lady stopped to pick us up.  Whew, this would be a safe ride we though and hopped right in. 

“Look at this, look at this!” she yelled as she flung a few papers back at us from the courthouse.  “My son is being charged with 13 counts of burglary!  Where’s my money?” she shouted.  “Oh, here it is, I always make sure I know where it is before I let strangers in the car”.  “Do you smoke weed?” she asked.

“No” we gulped and replied.  (Now we were not so sure this was a good ride to choose.)

“That’s good, my boyfriend only comes over for weed and sex”.  “Do you drink?” she asked again.

“No, not really.” we answered. 

“Drinking is bad for you, you shouldn’t even start.  I am 38 and I can’t even laugh with out pissing my pants.  Look at me, I have to wear depends!  When I was your age, I used to hitchhike too and these men would pick me up who would just whip it out and show it to me.” 

We were shocked, horrified, and speechless.  I mean, what do you say?  Luckily the place she was dropping us off was fast approaching and she stopped at a red arrow light.  I tried the door but it wouldn’t open (child safety lock), I was praying that we could get out!  She got out of the car to let us out and the light turned green.  People behind her were impatient and drove around us. 

“Fuck you, fuck you!” she yelled as she gave them the finger.  We were glad to be out.   By the time we made it to camp, it was nearly dark outside.  The last ride was an even stranger story.

Day 2

“Ants, ants!” Hanna called out; they were all over her.  We had spent the night in a no-camping zone beside the river, dodging boat spotlights that were looking for illegal campers like us.  We watched fireworks and tried not to make too much noise with our plastic bags that all of our stuff was wrapped in to stay dry. 

Sandra had gotten up before the sun, so we pushed off pretty early.  We kayaked through canyons, past dunes, red rainbow walls, cacti, reeds and crosses marking boater accidents.  We went about 17 miles that day and then stopped at a hidden cove to break camp.  We sunned, swam and set up camp at dusk as soon as the hoards of mosquitoes hit.  Tonight was another night of ‘hide-and-seek’ camping in the wildlife refuge.  The only outsider that passed was a family in a boat which had run out of gas shouting at us to see if we had any extra to spare.  “Paddle, paddle!” was the last thing we heard him say to his family as he kept drifting down the river.

Day 3

The next morning we awoke early and moved out before the boaters came back out on the lake.  It was quite peaceful and the air was just beginning to warm.  Before long, we came out of the refuge into Lake Havasu approaching London Bridge.  As we approached, I was shocked at how much smaller it was than I had imagined.  There were not nearly as many shops along the riverfront, but the bridge was as beautiful as could be and reminded me of the so many other bridges I had seen in London that were so much bigger.  Slowly we cruised on through. 

SIDE NOTE: The London Bridge (the one in all the children's rhymes) was sinking into the clay of London’s Thames River and a man by the name of McCulloch (an Arizonan) purchased the bridge for $2.4 million. Over the next three years, workers disassembled the bridge and flew its bricks to America where they were hauled to Lake Havasu City and reassembled over a newly dug out lagoon (1971).) 

There were floating snack shops everywhere, along with wide-eyed tourists looking at us as if we kayakers were an endangered species.  Everyone waved and we did invent a neat type of kayaking wave (just before the right side of the oar hits the water we wave our left hand… we should patent it). We finally stopped for the night at a beach on the California side of the river on the Indian Reservation. 

As the sun began to set, I hiked up into the mountains only to be amazed that small caves were everywhere.  I had stumbled across some Indian ruins.  As the sun set casting a warm orange glow over the CA mountains, I stood there thinking of what a perfect place it would have been to call home.

Day 4

That morning we slept in, the sky was cloudy and had fooled us as to what time it really was (630 am is sleeping in).  Our first stop this morning… Copper Canyon.  Copper Canyon was an array of narrow canyon walls where a stream fed into the Little Colorado River.  We must have gone through rolls and rolls of film there.  That day we chased muskrats, saw bighorn sheep, ducks, geese, cranes, faced ‘boat made’ waves and rapids having all sorts of fun. 

That night we found what looked like a small island to camp out on.  It was like the small dot on an exclamation point, just hanging onto the coast line by a 3 foot wide piece of beach.  We hiked carefully up the steep island bank and when we got to the top saw that the soil was very soft.  The edges looked as if they would also crumble due to erosion, and any moment at that.  There was just barely enough room for the tent and us at the top.  This was for sure a campsite you would only have the chance to camp on once (because it was about to fall into the river) so we decided to stay.   All evening we joked about rolling off the island. 

As nightfall came, a deafening roar of mosquito wings could be heard and they were soon all over us.  No one wanted to go back “downstairs” we called it (down the island cliff side) to get the repellent, but we soon had no choice.  We plastered ourselves in repellent since the mosquitoes were so thick, we couldn’t even breath with our mouths open with out breathing some in.  Luckily as it got darker, most of them went blood hunting elsewhere. 

Day 5

The next morning we had but only a short paddle back to the truck.  I think we were all a bit sad that the trip had come to an end.

Plane Down; San Francisco Mountains, Arizona

Search and Rescue for the Price Plane Crash in Flagstaff, Arizona...

Background:

On January 8th, at approximately 4pm, a small 6-passenger Piper 23 plane went down just north of Flagstaff.  There were 4 people aboard (the Price family) a preacher, his wife, their son and their son’s girlfriend.  They were on their way from a conference in Las Vegas, heading home to Midland Texas.  After several days of uneventful searching by local authorities, the US Army Arizona National Guard was called to Active Duty, to help out in the search. 
This is just one of the stories...

DAY 1: Saturday, January 18th

I awoke at 0430 and threw on layer upon layer of warm clothing, grabbed my ruck (backpack) and was out the door and headed off to base.  After a large breakfast and the mornings pre-brief, about 123 of us loaded up into cold ‘duce-and-a-halfs’ (a type of truck), buses and vans.  Our convoy moved slowly down the highway towards the starting point in Flag. When we arrived, we unloaded, regrouped and were assigned sectors.  I was assigned to 3rd platoon, 1st squad; we were given sectors 3 and 4 to cover. 

We loaded back up into a duces to depart for the assigned sectors. I hunkered down on the floor beside two strangers to keep warm. We were about to take off when our duce suddenly began rolling backwards! ‘Stop, stop!’ we all screamed, but it was too late… we had rolled right into the back of a bus.  The damage wasn’t too bad and no one was hurt, so we kept going.  

When we reached the point, we unloaded again and strung out down along the road spacing ourselves about 20 feet apart.  The words MOVE OUT suddenly echoed down the line and we headed off into the thick brush. 

Step-by-step all of our senses were put to the test, as we paused and smelled the air for aircraft fuel. Smell was what we relied on most during the search. Air craft fuel has a distinct smell, along with the possibility the plane may have hit and burned. We also looked for ravens, buzzards and bear who would have been scavenging the dead bodies. But here we smelled nothing but the pines.  

Loaded up with gear, we had to transverse waist high snowdrifts, fallen logs, cliff sides, house sized rocks, barbwire and thickets.  Several times we swept up and down the sectors finding nothing.  At one time the scent of fuel drifted by, but it past us as fast as the southern wind swept.  In the next sector we found fresh bones… coyote that is.  I was requested to throw them in my pack for the sheriff to check out, just in case. We kept going. 

The sun was now setting fast and we were at the end of our sector.  The duces couldn’t make it back to where we were so we had to hike it ‘back out’ a bit.  Full of energy I sprinted up to the rest of the guys in the front, we were in the lead. A mile later though, the few of us found out that we had gone too far and had to turn around and hike back again from where we had just come. 

By the time we arrived at the site there was no one around.  We would be waiting a bit for the duces to return.  It was cold once you stopped moving, considering we were all wet.  Once back on the duces we huddled close trying to conserve warmth, if you didn’t know your neighbor… you knew them now!  The driver bounced us around in the back taking rocks too fast in the dark; a few people hit the floor and didn’t bother getting up.  I was thrown to my feet a few times, but finally was able to secure myself to the seat.  We rode 35 miles (1 hour) back to base with the cold wind blowing through the canvas flaps.

DAY 2: Sunday, January 19th

Sunday we repeated everything just as before only today there were only about 100 of us (others were injured, or couldn’t handle the elevation of 9,000ft.).  Today we all were working on one very large sector, all 100 of us lined up to comb the woods.  The snow was really deep here since we were much higher up.  The line moved very slowly with the varying terrain.  Constant "HALT" and "MOVE OUT’S" were shouted up and down the line.  The southern guys from Phoenix made snow angels and my new group of friends harassed me with surprise snowballs through out the trip. 

The day was uneventful.  My friend Mike and I lead everyone back in 3rd platoon to the start site with my trusted GPS and Mike’s map… we had gotten lost but thankfully the two of us found the way.  When we were about to head back to base, word came that a hiker found the wreck just North of our search area.  There were no survivors and the plane had burned upon impact.  

It was a relief knowing the friends of the Price family could have some closure to this tragedy.  And at least a few good things came out from the search and those are my friends. 

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