cliffside_park

Dont know where you go? You'll end somewhere else

2009-09-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

"I guess i wasn't saying that for effect"

with the Cushner's and the look of shock on her face, i didn't want that response

I have really had it with this routine, and Merkowsky like, because I didn't have a plan, a concise roadmap, I wound up like Cathy Candy said once

"If you don't know where you'r going, you gonna wind up somewhere else"

what is my purpose?
am i side tracked?

what is your goal?
what is

here is my life coach
http://www.5min.com/Video/Dont-know-where-you-go-Youll-end-somewhere-else-11737890

You hate your job
you don't like to live here

follow your desires

focus on what really exictes you
focus on the EXCITING

http://www.5min.com/Video/Chris-Rock---How-to-save-your-ass-from-the-police-4583

YOUR ASS KICKED

tales of Ipiales and Oakland Yankees Aug 19

2009-08-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

my head hurts, even after 2 cafes, it is cloudy and grim out and August 20. I need to start calling VPs but first I must write. sitting in a mammoth Oakland Coliseum out in section 101 in right field. I am 340 feet from home, and still able to see balls and striked, I looked up and they have painted on the upper deck canvas 72 73 74 anbd 89. wow, 89 is the year they beat the Giants 20 fucking years ago...... it seems closer than that. they lost to the Dodgers and the Reds on the other side of that, those teams were loaded.

Dean Valentine and mookie Wilson, passing joints under the bathroom stalls. drinking beers like they were water in a desert. no mas my friend.

battleship gray skies and my headache, cafe 3, and jon miller on the cncy-giants game
kane off to Tahoe at noon, cool that he called me at the game. Solrac bailed on the game, too bad.

hollie trying to bust a move off the big man. ja with clean commentary on the place. too many hires, tooo much process, bill stabbed me in the back, going to D on the letter thing, oh well....i need some more demos....

Big dark rain clouds blowing over the stadium
tom Branagan on the beach for a second furlough
teh Public Option is beign rejected by the populace.

big dark clouds around the stadium, where did all the time go?
20 years with the seminole. 27 years in california. dick in W virginia
don't put me on a ventilator.....kids hitting baskets, kane learning to let her win
a few,,,,,,5th grade and 8th grade.

Dell all set for a career if kane tries it more. Dreamweaver, film multimedia is where it
is at.

if i get a xmas bonus, i am getting a lathe

love having that band aid can, would love having more like that.

what is kent up to? thnkng about odd characters in the past, the Indian guy teaching me portuguese in Trinidad with a Strand Bookstore blue book. Ipiales with mike anteallesio

poor tom.....

High Street august 2009

2009-08-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

needing, craving cafe
time clock running like a Jamaican

in the drizzle, i pack my car, animals runandtumble off the roof.
"out the door I went"

playing with the kids, shooting bombs in the driveway, watching tv, eating pasta, the day to day vaccum of santa cruz, the sadness of branagan on furlough

Feeling Lofty

2008-11-21T23:19:00.000-08:00

music and its evolution
smoking an old Meerschum pipe at 11:09 thinking about seeing Jonathan Edwards perform in Albany in 1979

Sunshine

the great escape

2007-04-06T22:13:00.000-07:00

over dinner in the little tourist town, we spoke about a theory of mine. If a young man stays home, as in his home town or community, past his 19th or 2oth years, they tend to stagnate there, and never leave.

You have to bust a move and move on. take a trip, go away to college, travel. If you stay you get stupid. You get in a rut. At this age, one needs adventure. It may be the same for girls. Everyone deserves a chance to get out.

career development

2006-12-08T09:23:00.000-08:00

[prelude] As the first Northwest storm approaches our bahia, the surf boomed all night. This morning, the acolyte sipped cafe and gave advice to a mom of a young man adrift, or slightly off course in his search of career. The bearded muse opined over granite slabs. Many years past, he too was in same coordinates. Some outside advice proved key. maybe someday, someone will guide my son to the land of milk and honey. (say what?)

Three muses

In 1974, on the Irish side of the family tree, there was a fairly succcessful business man. His name was Uncle Don. He was probably 40 and with some successful NYC insurance firm. At some family function at his parent's house, or his brother in laws house, he managed to break away from the family banter or TV football game, and we went off to a quiet room in the house.

He interviewed me. "What are you studying?... Do you like it? ...What is your game plan when you get out? " He listened and asked more stuff. My answers were shakey. I was doing well in college, I had very good grades, but I had no clue what I was going to finish up as. Should I switch majors, I had no idea. He said, he too had been a liberal arts major, and back in his college days, he had no idea and was not sure .at he was going to do. "When you get your degree, no matter what it is in, that is a mjor accomplishment, and you can turn that into any careeer you want. just get it, and take it from there. " "You don't have to be a business major to get a good job", he said. That was comforting.

In 1975, while roaming the old dark halls of Tollentine Hall, currently a senior underclassman of said college, I noticed a bulletin board printout for "Career opportunities for History majors". It was that same day, and the room was full of flannel shirted students, seniors and juniors mostly, an attentive bunch. The Dean of History, a known grouch, hosted the brief event.

"Thank you for attending today, I'll make this brief, there are no career opportunities for History majors. (A collective gasp, albeit silent. If you want to be a history teacher or professor, you will need to go to a graduate school, and perhaps cap that off with a doctorate. You are looking at four more years of school. There aren't a heck of lot of these jobs available when you do get to apply for one. In addition, they don't pay particularly well.

So what do you do now? The first thing you do, is augment that BA degree with a language. If you are studying a Euro history, you need to learn German, French, Spanish or Italian. If you can't afford to go to Paris or Barcelona, then you can save money and go to Mexico City or Montreal. If you are interested in Russia and the eastern bloc, you better learn to speak Russian. Same with anyone interestedin Japan or China. You need to be fluent in at least one or more languages if you want to get a job in business."

Holy Shit.

It took me a few days to register this, but I felt instinctively, he was probably right. I wasn't going to lake the LSATs, and I wasn't going to get a masters either. Screw that for now. This career session was going to land my ass at 8800 feet in a year and a half in Colombia. Thank you Dr. Grouch.

Fast forward, he graduated in May of 1976,

I had worked all summer, and as a parental favor, had came home to Cliffside to paint the downstairs of our house for a few weeks. Persistent second guessing, I was still adrift and had a queasy feeling about where to go, or what to do. My parents never nagged me, but must have been scratching their heads as to what I was doing this winter. Wih the paint on the wall, and the brushes, cleaned and put away....

The third ghost of Career Christmas Eve arrived:

A friend, a guy a year older than me, SB had graduated and was a lowly intern at Touche Ross in NY or north Jersey. In late Septembere, we went on a week long surf/camping trip to Cape Hatteras in North Carolina. He had an old brown VW, and we headed south. He had to drop off some report to the TR Wilmington Delaware office, and with that done, we then shot south through the flats of Delaware to the Chesapeak Bay Bridge on the way to the Cape.

SB also had some cool things up his sleeve. "I want to go to business school, and it is going to be a hot school called Amos Tuck School of Business. (Dartmouth). I quit guarding and tried something different, I drove a lumber delivery truck this summer. It was a cool job and I saved a lot of money. I am taking a year to work and do some fun stuff, but the way to explain time away from school is to describe it as "Career Development".

Holy Shit again.

I now had a blueprint, a map on the side of a brown paper bag I could work with.
I 'm going balls out at this point, I am seizing this year for myself. I'll do whatever the hell I wanted, and just work on my spanish and bundle it all up and do somehthing when I get back.

2006-12-02T07:05:00.000-08:00

we were all trapped, like six hamsters in a 10 gallon terrarium. Six domesticated fellows, all seperate species, linked by paystubs, sharing some pizza in a chinese pizzaria on a peninsula, perhaps an island on the east bay of the San Franciso tidal bay.

I sat inside the table of six, a sour stomach and nibbling on sour dough. My nurse, my wife admonished me on the phone, acting like her mom, and her mom, and her mom...."don't get dehydrated, don't eat anything more than a bananna or some toast." toast? I want pizza my dear, but now I eat warm garlic bread slices in a little basket, and we interact.

Alll of these fellows are intelligent. There is mellow J, with a numbed back and thinking about his girls up on the hill. He is always stressing about some tasks he must do. he loves sports, his local teams, and he is a loyal soldier. There is M in the middle, more audacious, a better sense of humor, also a great soldier, trying to enjoy life more passionate, more italian than we know. You would never see anyone so happy about being in his new home. his Bungalow, in the prestigous "Sunbelt" hood, across from the park. What a great house 3800 feet of sunshine, and he could walk to the office.

We did what? Heymate, we did 4.7 million on Nov 30? say fricken what? Jesus H. Christ!

Back at the table, subtle digs on the DB, as the enormous C, a gadfly who is so polite, taking shots at the hills of iwo jima. We all have wives and little kids off somewhere, and we struggle like ants up the sand hills. M on my left has to hustle to get his house ready after his wife and babies return from Tejas...double and triple wise ass entrendres from me. "Does ICM support Kwanza?, (wild unified laugh track)

We went from conference room, to this empty old home, and we are sipping a 2002 and 2004 delicious Zinfandel, and later the driver is going off on the trivia of the clippings and how they came to be. It is a class thing. affordability. these guys are bon vivants

this aint Brautiigan

I sit and think about speakers and medicis, and jimmy Reed and restorng my windows 98 and why I can't have C at dr. fuji's office. That is just too tasty, too tight, too fine for the domesticated one. Why not? why is this so unnattainable???

rompere i coglioni a qualcuno 12/1

Heading South_1

2005-10-30T23:34:00.000-08:00

(written backwards)

Easter Sunday, 1973

Snoopy and Suzanne dropped me off in Fort Lee, New Jersey on an early spring day. I knew that two miles south of the GW Bridge, my brother and sister were tearing into their Easter basket candy, and I could visualize eating some white chocolate or those marshmellow yellow chickens with them. There wasn't a heck of a lot of traffic in Fort Lee this early on an Ester Sunday, so I kept walking. In another 30 minutes, I would be home.

Farley went on toward Connecticut with the two girls.

Heading West_47

2005-09-21T11:10:00.000-07:00

The two hitch hikers back on campus in Pennsylvania.

Would you get hip to this kindly tip

And go take that California trip

Get your kicks on Route 66

Route 66 lyrics/Rolling Stones

There is a certain feeling you get when you are hitch-hiking.
It can feel like a science fiction time travel experience, like
in a Tom Swift sort of "I've been whisked away" sense.

Or in some more recent Star Trek "5 year voyage out on the asphalt".
Some rides are passive, sleepy affairs. Others are dangerous, where the conversations are lewd, or aggressive. Either way, you are connected with
the driver in some sense, and others, are disconnected, almost monastic; where you
are praying next to a total stranger at a sunday service.

For some, you might get that Zen feeling; when you feel the utter randomness of hitchhiking. One ride could get you right to your destination, or you might need 12 seperate cars.
On this trip, a very good friend shared the adventure

:

The Bayonne Boys with Bob & Steve

An Academic shot of Bob & Steve on the Route 30 sign post

Headed West_46

2005-09-21T10:10:00.000-07:00

Post Script: Momma Told Me

I walked into my house on Grove Avenue, probably 10 pounds lighter. My Mom gave me a hug, and after a cup of tea, some be-briefing questions, and now, with no where to go, I started to get antsy.

Farley had headed an extra 10 miles south, to Jersey City, his parents kept a commuter apartment for his dad, who still was working on tugs in the NYC harbor.

Farl's parents were living in the "Cedarcroft" section of Point Pleasantat that time. His folks had another house (32 Columbia Avenue in Jersey City Heights, one block down from Kennedy Boulevard, running parallel) at that time. A "fixer-upper" for Pookie to turn over later. It served a sleepover house for his Dad, who worked odd hours on the waterfront. Farley went there immediately after we got into Cliffside. He hitched or took a bus down Kennedy Boulevard.

Robert called me after lunch, and had organized a get together for that night! We would all meet at McSorley's Ale House in the Bowery. Parked on the street, was my Dad's 1968 Cutlass Supreme. He had just bought a new (hideous brown) 1974 Cutlass Supreme two door. The old car was mine, but still in his name.

I was dying to go for a drive, behind a familiar wheel. Cruise around and listen to some WNEW.

Farley had arranged the Bayonne boys: Kevin Farrell, Robby Komerowski, and Mike Merkowsky to be there. Another call came in, this time it was a friend of mine from Bergen Catholic, a great guy named Tom Roberts. He was on the track team with me at BC, and had gone to Univeristy of Florida in Gainesville. He was in Fort Lee, visiting one of his sisters. "Want to join us tonight?" He was on his way. I dialed another local guy, Richard Kazanjian, who was working for a funeral home that summer.

My mom almost never second guessed me. Until now.
"Are you driving into the city tonight?" she asked.
"Yes, I'll be careful" was my response to those blue Hudson County eyes.

"Your dad is interviewing someone tonight, he is taking him to dinner, so you won't see him til breakfast" she said. Roberts and I jumped in the car, and we were off to the Lincoln Tunnel about 6pm. We stopped on the way, and picked up the "KAZ"!!!

There's a hit song Three Dog Night sang, it goes like this:

Open up your window, let some air into this room

I think I'm almost chokin' from the smell of stale perfume

And that cigarette you're smokin'Don't scare me half to death

Open up the window, sucker, let me catch my breath

Mama told me not to come

I drove through Fairview, down into Edgewater on the waterfront, and then up along Boulevard East through North Bergen, Weehauken, Union City. You are coming into mid town Manhattan, and its gorgeous. You can see the Empire State Building, and to the south, the battery and the Verrazano bridge on a clear evening.

Coming down the road from the Hamilton Duel monument, traffic was totally backed up. Three lanes were bumper to bumper, "This was a Fricken mistake driving in tonite, my mom was right" There was a parking lot on the other side of the road. I was in the middle lane, the first lane on my left was traffic free. The two middle lanes merged to the big right you take, as you go into the toll booth plaza.

I hesitated, I looked and the first lane was clear, but the northbound three lanes were jammed. I saw an opening in the northbound lanes, and swung the wheel hard left to cross the yellow line and run into the parking lot. Simple, but.....

BAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!

I only got the nose of the Cutlass over the double yellow line, and a car that was ripping down the first lane, ripped into the Cutlass at 50 miles per hour. A sick sound of metal on metal, the whole front of my car was crushed and thrown back into lane two. A Latino driver ran up to my car, furiously screaming and yelling. I get out of the car, and steam and water flows on to the street. Totalled for sure. No one hurt. I was in big trouble now. I had royally fucked up.

There was a it looked pushed in.

We called my mom, she called my Dad. He showed up in 15 minutes with the guy he was interveiwing. They had suits on. "Are you boys OK?" he asked. Kaz and Roberts were kind of stunned, just standing around, commiserating. Then they were making jokes, why not, they were not on the hot seat.

A little mini truck that cruises the tunnel to tow cars out rapidly went by.

Kaz mentioned to Tom: "Boy, that truck got it's assed kicked in".

I felt horrible. This was all my fault. Nick surmised the situation, and then asked the policemen, "Is this the driver of the other car, he seems to be inebriated".

There's no doubt my old man probably had 4 Tanguereys in him at that moment, but he looked sharp and in control, and the police did ascertain the other driver was indeed drunk.

They ticketed him for drunk driving, and tow trucks quickly removed both vehicles.

All I was thinking about on the hitchhiking trip, was buying some hot rims for the Cutlass. Now it was bent and dead being towed to the back row on a Tonnelle Avenue body shop.

My Dad dropped Roberts and me off in Fort Lee, and we had pitchers of cold beer at an icy air conditioned bar near Lemoin Avenue. It wasn't the intended "Light" or "Dark" ales of West 10th Street. Tom or his sister gave me a ride home.

A weird way to end a hitch hiking trip.

The end.

Heading West_45

2005-09-19T08:59:00.000-07:00

How many more rides?

You never know who or how long someone is going to take you when you are hitching. It could be some hippy, a military officer, a cop, a guy your dad's age. It could be a crook, a pervert, a stoner, or a musician. You have a little faith, you play your hunches, and you give it a go. You accept a ride, and take one exit up the road, or turn it down for a real long one with out of state plates.

We were now three hours east of Peoria, and we felt focused on getting maybe one more ride. We would boast to each other: "Hey Esteban, step aside, let me show you how to get a ride".

Or after ten minutes of futility, "Move aside, Roberto, you have no personality, no one wants you in the car for the next 4 hours. You my man, have lost your touch."

So with a friend, you enjoy, this kind of argument ensues to pass the time.
I can't recall who nailed this next one, I am going to say it was Bob. He flagged down a new white van with a trucker shell on the back of it. It was all clean white, no company name on it. It had only one big seat in the front of it, and we all climbed in. The guy was an older man, in his fifties. He had white hair and glasses, and he was much younger than the LBJ farmer from Iowa.

He was delivering some kind of furniture in the back of this truck. He was going to, (get this) New York City!

This could be our last ride on the trip. We told him where we were heading, and offered up front to drive straight through the night, and get him in earlier, and save him a hotel expense. I guess he was tight, or tired, he agreed and we roared east past Chicago.

So now we are balling the jack. Bob drove first, and I came in right behind him. We shot across Illinois, Indiana and were into mid Ohio, when the owner treated us to a dinner at a truckstop. Bob washed down a few cups of coffee and I sat on his right. We gabbed all night. The owner slept against the window on the passenger side. During the early morning hours, there was a large truck crash somewhere near Altoona.

We speculated that another "Steve", this one from Altoona, was the cause of the crash. Apparently not. We came into New Jersey around dawn, and we would easily have this guy on the GW Bridge by 9am.

What excitement. I had a new surfboard en route. We had the whole summer ahead of us.
He dropped us off in Fort Lee, and in one ride south, I was home on Grove Avenue. It was glorious. We were home.

Heading West_44

2005-09-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

Crush on the girl headed to Chicago

I took the front on this one, and Bob sacked out. For two hours, we were like chatterboxes. She was curious about our travels, and she was just out of college, and moving to Chicago for her first job.

I think her name was Susan or Sue. She was dimunutive, and wore eyeglasses. She was really cute. For the second time on this trip, I imagined settling down with another person, if only for an hour. To summarize, I had no girlfriend, and no rings or strings. I would maintain this "ice in the vein" philosphy for twenty years.

But every now and then, you meet a total stranger and some kind of chemistry starts to swirl. I could feel it on her side of the car also. You can just tell, everything is clicking and extremely comfortable.

She read a lot, just looking at her and her glasses, and her two hands on the wheel.
Wel I loved reading just as much. Look at my thick Henry Kissinger glasses momma!

This conversation about sharks was sending off all kinds of bells and gongs in my chest. She described the details about a book called the Blue Meridian.

She was fascinated with oceans, and she was reading as many books as she could on the subject. She had just finished this one, and was going off on how great it was. Apparently five diver/photograghers and one expedition historian set to the high seas in search of the ellusive Great White shark. This book follows the expedition from the cold waters of South Africa, throughout the Indian Ocean, and ultimately to South Australia in search of thier quarry.
I wrote the title down, and recommended Two Years Before the Mast and a few Jack London works. That ride seemed like two exits, it went too fast.

Coming close to Chicago, I awokened my partner in the back, Bob had slept the whole way, and was a little groggy from the night before. She dropped us off on a great entrance ramp, and I got to shake her hand. I hope she got nearer to the ocean one day.

"I could really fall for a girl like that"
Bob said something like :"You're such a knucklehead. She was too small for you, oh whatever...."

Heading West_43

2005-09-19T08:11:00.000-07:00

Last leg

Steve Kelley was a great host. He was slowly moving away from our gang, as he wasn't too happy with the school and some of the crew. We would return the favor the coming fall as we invited him up to Jersey, and a wild night in mid town manhattan, showing him our hangouts, except it would be conclude sleeping in the Port Authority bus station, not a cozy guest room.

He was not happy at Villanova after two years. He was homesick for the midwest, and would transfer back to an Illinois school in another semester. Bob was also trying to get out of Villanova in three years, and he had a plan. I had attempted to transfer to Wisconsin or UConn during my freshman year. What a bad scene at a college can do for you, is sometimes make you bust a move, and try something different.

For Bob, and I, getting away from Villanova, PA via thumbs was the way to go.

an old postcard is all I have of the Kelleys:
Steve gave me an old postcard his dad mailed to "The Kelley Children". The Australian stamp was torn off, and its a black and white photo of an aborogine, shirtless, holding two boomerangs.
I bet its from the early 60's. The title under the shirtless man is Onus Australian Champion Boomerang Thrower-Lompkins photo. It is a classic:

Until I scan it, it actually is a man named Bill Onus:
http://www.reasoninrevolt.net.au/biogs/E000288b.htm

"Wait until see your father throw the boomerang! I'm putting on a demonstration in Glen Oak Park a week from Sunday. Start selling tickers to all your friends, Love, Dad."

You can tell Mr. Kelley was a cool guy too.

After two nights in Peoria, we headed out the next day. Steve dropped us off at the freeway, and we started to head north on Route 51, right back to Route 80, and nearer to Chicago.

Two or three short rides got us near the Route 80 east ramp, and a little girl in a Toyota Celica, picked us up, and she was headed to Chicago.

<----------Bill Onus, Boomerang thrower

Heading West_42

2005-09-19T07:40:00.000-07:00

Peoria, riding schools and a country club.

After breakfast, Steve took us around town, he showed us everything. Cat headquarters, some famous theatre. Apparently the line "Will it play in Peoria?" is not a slam on this city, but a compliment as it considered itself a theatre town.

He showed us his grade school, all kinds of arcane places. It was a river town for sure, the Illinois River came right through it. We asked him to show us a bar for lunch and we had many pitchers of beers. We showered and got ready for a big BBQ that evening, we hung out and watched TV and drank more beers.

I remember Bob had sewn in 3-4 silver dollars in the inside of his denim jacket. When it was his turn to buy a round, he took off his jacket, borrowed a knife from the waitress and cut out the last of his cash on the table. She hadn't seen this act before.......

What a great feeling. Late spring in the "Land of Lincoln", waking up in a clean bed after 4-5 days sleeping on the ground or in a back seat of car. Smelling bacon and coffee downstairs.

On the second day, we dropped his kid sister off at a riding stable, and we were checking out the hotties riding these large horses. I had never seen this before in North Jersey. Later that day, he mixed up a batch of mixed drink pitchers of some concoction, and we walked over to the Peoria Country Club. It had several bars, a restaurant, a pool, lockers, the works. Bob and I were certainly impressed, this place was gorgeous, and he knew all the elders at this place. Kelley introduced us to a lot of dignified guys, probably the local bankers, politicians, or mostly just his neighbors hanging out at this club.

Steve had a cozy setup. This wasn't anything near Cliffside or Point Pleasant, and even further removed from our Jersey City and Secaucus roots. Oh well.

The last thing I wanted to mention about Kelley. I used to have to wear a sport jacket to class every day in high school. We also had to wear a shirt and tie, and shoes that "take a shine". At Nova, Kelley wore a sport jacket every day on campus. He had old bell bottoms, or jeans under them, and he explained that besides looking good, he had all these pockets for holding pens, keys, his cigarettes, and his wallet. The next time I went to north jersey, I brought back two of mine. I still wear a sport jacket all the time in casual events. Thanks to Mr. Kelley for this Peoria styling tip.

Heading West_41

2005-09-19T06:43:00.000-07:00

Peoria, Illinois

LBJ dropped us off on the edge of town. We shook hands, and really, warmly thanked him for picking us up and taking us out of his way. Now we were in Illinois, and pretty excited to look up one of our old friends. His name was Steve Kelley.

Steve lived in my dorm freshman year, he was about 4 doors away. He was a tall guy, about 6 2" or 6 3", a gangly guy, and he had prepped in Washington DC. His Dad was under secretrary for Defense in the Nixon Administration. After serving in his first administration, he returned the family to Peoria, Illinois and went back to running Caterpillar. Cat still is a leader and the world's leading manufacturer of construction and mining equipment, diesel and natural gas engines and industrial gas turbines. This company dominated this city, and Kelley had long told us what a great town it was.

Yea, right we used to tell him.

We called him from a phone booth at 7am, we asked his Mom if she could wake him, we were calling from California....(we told her). When we got him on the phone, we jived him and then told him we were in town. He was stoked. He drove right over with the family station wagon.

Freahman year, this guy was a cool guy to hang out with. My first days on campus were a trip. I had been on a island at the Jersey Shore for three months, and my hair was as long as it ever had been. I was tan, and had been surfing, guarding and partying all summer. This campus was hilly, green and old brick and mortar. It was humid, and crickets roared on the campus. Now we were under giant trees, on the Philadelphia Main Line.

I was wearing a bathing suit and new moccasins; to my mom's dismay. I was rooming in Corr Hall, an ancient stone dorm that was cramped housing near the library and facing the train tracks. In the first morning, I got up really early and went to take a shower for the first day of classes.

Standing in front of the mirror, in a towel, was a skinny guy, a Puerto Rican kid from NYC named Jose Sala. He introduced himself, he was brushing his teeth, smoking a joint, and singing some latin tunes. I was cracking up as I lathered up in the shower. When I came out, he was combing his hair, and immensely happy. "You know, God made puerto ricans the happiest people in the world!"

I would catch him later that day. His roomate was Steve Kelley.

He took us to his house, it was an enormous brick structure, probably the biggest house I had ever seen up to this point. He put us in a large guest room, we had a humongous pancake breakfast, and met his younger sister, his Mom, and later his Dad. They were all friendly folks.

3828 N.Harvard Avenue, Peoria, Illinois
Man, you should have seen this shack.

Heading West_40

2005-09-15T08:31:00.000-07:00

The kindness of strangers

The old guy lived alone in the western section of Iowa City. He may have been fooling us, or maybe he actually did have a friend or some family in Indiana. Nevertheless, he said: "I have some good news for you fellas, I am going to visit some old friend of mine. (He was so happy to be doing this, he was smiling and beaming) It should just happen to take you closer to your friend in Peoria. (Who we had mentioned was a possible destination)

We had our coffee break with him at about 4am. He got back in the back seat, and got on his pillow. He was chatty, then quieter, and soon sleeping again. He had some Blind Faith Hitch hiker Mojo going too. You have to have a lot of faith and trust in people if you pick up a hitch hiker or throw out your thumb on the requesting end of this equation.

Route 80 crosses right across Iowa, and this man was headed to Iowa City. To get us to Peoria, he had to get us to the border city of Davenport Iowa. That was out of his way just ot get us over the Mississippi River. He then headed south on Route 74, and east on through these 98 miles into the outskirts of Peoria. The old boy gave us all 160 miles out of his way, just because he "liked our spirit".

This was unreal.

Heading West_39

2005-09-15T07:30:00.000-07:00

"You go first"

"What in the world was going on in that house in Long Beach?"
"It was totally bizarre"
"All those kids were drunk, drugged or high, right?"
"It sure seemed that way"

"What about the entrance to that place?"
"Holy Shit!, that was totally fricken weird, what was going on there?"

Back in Heading West_27, a girl had picked us up in Seal Beach, south of Los Angeles, and had offered to take us to San Francisco. We had to stop at her house, so she could pick up some things for her dog, his water bowl and some food. She grabbed her sleeping bag, and we were on our way.

What had happened was that the whole experience, maybe an hour of waiting for her to get her stuff ready was ERASED from our keen memories. It had been wiped clean, like shower steam from a bathroom mirror. Something was messing with us, and the spell had just worn off.

"I will never forget going into the house?"
"Do you?"
We argued who would describe it first,
My version went like this. We walked up to the house, it was a one story, kind of run down stucco home in an average neighborhood. She parked in the driveway.

"Would you like to come in, it will only take about 10 minutes"
We agreed.

I followed her up to the house, she went first, she opened the door and I had to follow her into a virtually blackened room. We put our hands out and tried to feel where we were walking. I lost sight of her, and just hoped I wouldn't fall flat on my face. We turned right, but who knew where any direction was.

On my right was a panel of some sort, it was set up like a 4 by 8 foot plywood or sheetrock panel, and it too was black, but there was a thousand distant green lights, like an astronomy pattern, it was close, but it was a million light years away. I didn't want to look at it, and I kept my face from looking at it. It was terrifying, like falling into the Grand Canyon.

We seemed to walk by a low, long couch, and I kept my head down and then turned right again. and walked toward some lights in the other rooms. Again. Bob described what he saw too.

"What is going on here?" we asked ourselves in the Rambler.
Goosebumps appeared on my arms, and I felt scared again, that these memories came out.

"What was that thing when we came in the house?"
I answered, "It was.....it was Satan"
It was a giant face of some sort, all those green lights, there were hundreds or thousands of these pin lights coming out from a panel or a black curtain, it or he was watching us walk in
the house, it made us walke around this THING?"

Bob agreed. Something weird had been there.
"Why did we, why couldn't we talk about this until now?"
"I have no fucking idea"

We walked in the house, and there were people in a room. Maybe 8 or nine people, but they were all teenagers. Young teenagers. They were sprawled on couches, old furniture, and the lam ps in the room had really low Watt light on them. There was something cooking or burning in the air. She introduced us to three of them, and then excused herself to get her stuff.

There were no adults here.
It seemed, she was in charge. But that term was pretty loose here.
We didn't see the kids mixing drinks or a bong, or any drugs, but they all were in a sleepy stupor.

I walked outside, past a dining room or a kitchen, and walked out some cheap aluminum slider doors to the backyard. There were more kids out here. One kid was wacking a stick against a chaise lounge, There may have been a built in pool back there. It was murky.

I grabbed a seat around a stone BBQ or fireplace, There were 10-12 old couches, folding chairs and some old patio furniture, the cast iron kind with moldy cushions. Something was smoldering in the BBQ, A wisp of smoke curled up and around the trees in this backyard.

I didn't want to go back in the house, and I felt wobbly, almost a bit drugged. I walked around the fences, and there were a lot of bird cages and some rabbit pens on low boxes near the redwood fence. There were dead birds in some of the cages. In other cages, some kind of birds or parakeets made sad chirps. I think I saw a dead or a sleeping rabbit in the one cage.

Bob threw in his observations.
"I think they were sacrificing some of the animals outside, like before we got there" "Yep, something weird was going on inside and out." he added. "Some of those little kids were drunk, no one was in charge."

It was pitch dark, and there was no outdoor light on.
Another thing happened, when the girl who picked us up was almost ready, and came outside to see me. She stepped outside, and said "I have towatch all these kids, my parents are seperated, her mom wasn't in town. They will be back soon.".

A low flying helicopter flew over, and it had a bright spotlight on it. It was right over the backyard of her house. It descended to about 150 feet, and started to move the light all over the yard. It then shined on her side of the fence, then they turned off the lamp, and it took off away from us.

"That is the LA Police, can you believe this?"
"Maybe they were looking for Patty Hearst?"

Finally, she was ready, and we left. I had sat on the couches inside with a few of the kids, I can't tell you what was going on in there.

We walked by the panel on the way out, it was still there, it was watching us as we left, but it wasn't as dramatic as when we entered. "Bob, whatever we saw on the way in, made me feel like I was so small, so tiny, like an atom"

Again, why did this get blocked out of our minds till Iowa? What was going on back in that house? It was a mystery, we tried to talk it out that night, and we switched drivers again and maybe one more time until the morning. The old gent woke up, and thanked us for driving. "How we doing on gas?" he asked.

We pulled into a rest stop for gas, and then had some hot chocolate and coffees.
We were almost near Indiana. LBJ had a surprise for us. We thought he had Iowa plates, and he did, but he was to offer us a great extension of kindness.

Heading West_38

2005-09-15T07:08:00.000-07:00

other wordly, crossing over the Missouri, perhaps you could explain this to me

So if you have followed this hithhiking trip so far, everything in the story actually happened. One of the patterns in it, is that: one thing leads to another. One hitchhiking pickup leads to the subsequent one. One bit of learning, leads to the next experience.

So here are two nineteen year old boys from Jersey City in the front of a 1963 Rambler station wagon. In the back seat, horizontal, is LBJ, snoring away under his blanket and comfy pillow.

We are taking turns driving and we are going through patches of fog. After midnite, we cross the Missouri River, and we talk about history, I believe in this case, I was reminding Bob that Lewis and Clark passed under this bridge, heading northwest over the Rockies in 1803.

We're rambling, and then there are minutes of silence, we're sleepy, we're hungry, we're still totally focused on this part of the trip. Something happened.

Something inexplicable happened.

In the middle of five or ten minutes of silence, I suddenly was very scared, in fact, I was absolutely the most scared I had ever been in my life. My mind shrunk like a BB pellet and fell deep past my lungs and into the pit of my stomach. Suddenly my BB sized mind jettisoned up past my upper chest and got lodged somewhere between my ears. My head wobbled like an old hand saw, or in a Popeye cartoon after Blutto gives him a haymaker punch.

The funny thing is, this realization, or this awakening happened simultaneously to my blue eyed friend on my right. Something fricken snapped our heads back and forward like two punches from the back seat, like two frying pans hitting us from behind.

In the middle of a dark night in Iowa, we turned to look each other in the darkness, with
the soft glow of dashboard lamps, and I remember we both started to ask ourselves out loud:

"Do you want to talk about what happened in Long Beach?"

Heading West_37

2005-09-14T08:14:00.000-07:00

Desolation & a sense of desperation

We were hoping to cross the state line ASAP. We were stuck on an exit/entrance about 100 yards from the freeway. We couldn't see traffic, and they couldn't see us. The next car or truck to come down this road, yea, maybe in a day or two.

"F it" said my blue eyed companion.

I nodded in agreement, and we sprinted down the long entrance ramp, and starting frantically to flag down anything. Sure, we were really hoping for a truck, but would have gotten in or pulled a rickshaw if it came by. Anything. With the every dashboard radio blabbing about who one cop dead, in the 200 miles near Cheyenne, we could only hope some nut or a deaf person would pick us up.

We get lucky.
A station wagon, an early sixtes Rambler station wagon, with Iowa plates slowly pulled to the shoulder in front of us. Fifty feet away, a driver with glasses, an older man who looked like LBJ was looking us over. His turn signal was on, he looked in his rear view mirror, checked that he was on the shoulder, then slowly squinted at us. Sensing this, we didn't rush his car.

"Let him check us out Bob"
"All right" he said.

We smiled, then he leaned toward the passenger window, and slowly rolled it down.
In an old man's voice, I figured he was going to ask us for directions, or have a heart attack.

Instead, he asked: "Are you boys going to rob me?"

"No sir"

"We would very much enjoy riding with you to Iowa."
He paused about 10 seconds.

"Well come on in, I could use some company"

We could not have been happier. I jumped in the back this time. Bob started to comfort him, telling him where we came from, where we had been. He was a retired gentleman, he was visiting some family in northern Colorado, and had a long drive back to Iowa.

He was a really cool guy. His car was indeed, a 1963 Rambler. Bob was chatting away with him. He drove in the slow lane, and was doing 55 mph. I passed out for an hour, when I woke up the old guy was laughing his ass off, Bob had him rolling talking about Europe.

The guy's name was Bill. He was in that generation of men that carried clean handerchiefs in their pockets, he pulled his out to clean glasses with his, his was a blue and white one. Three hours later, I was in the front with him and I got him to talk about what was growing on our left and right.

"This here on the left is alfalfa, and in the back he's got some rows of sorghum. and over here this is feed corn. That fellow is growing oats. Over here they are planting dry beans. " He explained the whole Ag process to me, about how hard it is to be a farmer, and how prices are set, and bushels and the economy.

It made the time go quick, we were slowly and steadily moving across Nebraska. Bill knew and described what it felt like to "have your ass bumping on that there tractor seat for 12 hours on a hot day." He could tear out the engine on a tractor or some wheat cutting harvester. He knew how to raise chickens, swine and milk cows. He loved sharing his stories with us. He was a warm family man, and didn't curse. What a spirit this guy had.

We had candy bars for lunch, he had a BLT.

Five hours later, we pulled into a rest stop, and he had some soup for dinner, we also had something light, (under 2 bucks, maybe a hot dog and a glass of milk) Our elderly friend was getting a little stiff, he had those wooden beads on his driver seat that everyone used back then. His feets were getting numb. He took a few breaks, to walk and get his circulation moving.

After sitting for 8 hours, we asked him, if we could do some driving. "Let you take a break".
We had won him over all day, and he agreed. We would be in his section of Iowa around midnite at this pace.

With a sun setting in the back window of the station wagon,
Bob drove first. We agreed to switch every two hours.
Our farmer friend pulled out a pillow and blanket from the back, pulled off his shoes,
and got comfortable in the back seat.

"Bob, we are two lucky SOBs"
"We might just make it to Illinois in another day."

Who cares, keep your eyes on the road.

Heading West_36

2005-09-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

A Scare

We wished the Mustang guy, (I recall, his name was Ron) luck.

We walked away from the south boud interchange and watched his Mustang drive south and get swallowed in traffic. In some hundred miles, he would be home to lick his wounds in Denver. We shrugged our shoulders, "Hey, nice guy but he gave us 900 miles from Sparks, Nevada," "Let's nail another big one Esteban" said Bob.

We ran across the freeway and got on the east bound entrance ramp to Route 80. Bam!, Two quick, but short rides got us outside of the city. It was a clear, and chilly morning. The local freeway signs indicated we were at 6000 feet altitude, although we were well passed the Tetons.

For our third ride out of Cheyenne, traffic was crawling, and still, not one dam truck had picked us up. It was all cars for us so far. We were on a hill, working a pretty desolate entrance to the highway. We were staying off the freeway to avoid a hitchhiking ticket or another BS "Walking on the Freeway" ticket like we got in San Diego. We were also below the "Vagrancy" limit of cash to easily be thrown in jail.

How to scare 2 boys from Jersey City:
A VW pulls up towards us, slows down, and hits the brakes. It stops in a cloud of Wyoming dust. Two guys were in it with sunglasses, military or aviation type shades. They stopped the car in the middle of the road ramp, both leaped out, they reached to the backseat of the VW, pushing both seats forward.

We froze, not moving toward the Bug. What's up with this?

They weren't looking at us, and began pulling real shotguns out of the back, then, leaned them against the front seats, and pulled out two backpacks, canteens and ammo bags. "Oh Shit!" I thought.

"Sorry about that" said the driver. "now there's some room"

And with that Blind Faith attitude you need when you hitch, we shrugged our shoulders and got in the back. The front passenger guy kept the guns with him, and the driver shifted quickly on the 80 East.

These guys were our age, both from Montana, and off duty, they were going to shoot some birds about an hour east of Cheyenne. They were in the military, and did security east of where they picked us up. They monitored missile silos that were "all over the place here".

As history majors, (and I always loved the Cold War angle of American history), we pressed them with lots of crazy questions. These two weren't actually stationed in the bunkers, "those cats are some focused dudes" said the other soldier. But they had gotten down in them, to check it out.

"See that ridge on the left, just to the left of that herd , in fact, right under those 12 cow's asses are five big ass tubes with some crazy amount of war heads, aimed at Moscow.".

"Wows and Jeezes........!" came out of our mouths.

"we monitor about 50 miles of sensor equipment on the surface near the silos. We frequently get a tumbleweed stuck in a fence, and we have to drive out and make sure it isn't a spy or a terrorist. It's really boring work, but we get to party in Cheyenne, there are some great girls in that town. That's why we are so excited to get a day off and have some sport."

Then they broke the grim news that two just this morning, really early, but they heard it on the radio, that two hitchhikers west of Cheyenne had shot and killed a policeman. "You guys better watch your selves the next 24 hours."

Oh man, that's all we need.
Our best hope was they diverted their resources in that direction. But we would still have some local cops on the look for you know who.

So that was it, with an hour between us and Cheyenne, our hunter friends left us in a remote area. We were stuck with no rides for almost 2 hours.

Heading West_35

2005-09-13T07:08:00.000-07:00

The Mustang driver:

He had a worried mind. Apparently, somewhere between Sacramento or Reno, he had gotten busted by the cops for something odd. He was pulled over and he had resisted his being stopped, or had given the cop some lip. We passed a place called Humboldt Lake on Route 80.

He got hit with almost a $250 fine, and had spent two days in the slammer. If you do a lot of travel, you will inevitably run into some hard luck travelers. Bob and I always skated over the dangerous sections of our trips. On occaison, you would run into someone who was down on his luck, unlucky, or had made a bad decision. This guy was one of these sad examples.

He wanted a few bucks for gas, and I think we gave him (between us) about five bucks worth. On a cloudless day, under blue skies and sandy hills, we cruised east toward Utah. We were all hungry, and could only have a candy bar here and there when we gassed up.

We passed just south of the Great Salt Lake itself, and through Salt Lake City, and we immediately, started a steep ascent into the Wasatch Mountain range.

At the top of this climb, we needed gas. We pulled into a station, and I asked the attendent, who was my age, "How much snow do you guys get here?"

He had a cool story. He said during the recent February, it was snowing heavily, but the snow up here was usually always very dry, and this was a great area for powder skiing at local resorts Alta or Snowbird and piled in drifts. He said at 11pm, there was about three feet of snow out on his gas island, his pumps werer half covered. In an hour, the pumps were totally covered, the drifts may have been over 10 foot. By two in the morning, the snow had blown back to a foot or two.

We pushed east. We kind of had this guy cheered up after 400 miles. After 10pm, Bob and I changed positions, it was his turn to keep this guy amused and awake. I slipped to the back seat, and he and Bob rambled through the night.

We offered, yet he didn't want us to drive, I think all he owned at this point was this Mustang. Can't blame the guy. I awoke hungry and excited to be in a new state, we were in Wyoming!!

Around 9 or 10 AM, the Mustang hit Cheyenne, and we extended handshakes, and thanks to Ron. our driver. He headed south to Denver. Denver was about 100 miles due south of us. In retrospect, this was almost 900 miles on this one ride. We had put a good dent in the map.

Heading West_34

2005-09-13T06:53:00.000-07:00

Nevada & hot!

The 3 Beehive ladies dropped us off in a town east of Reno called Sparks.

I had on my A's hat, eyeglasses, brown corduroys and my orange U of Florida teeshirt.
It had to be over 100 degrees and it was a desert. Sand and cactus, and no one was picking us up. We struggled for a couple of hours, getting a few short rides.

We were on a hilly section now, about 40 miles east of Sparks, and to kill time, we threw rocks at a sign post. Someone wrote on the sign in Magic Marker: A disconsolate hitchhiker had left his mark.

"Stuck in this dam place for 6 hours, April 1974"

Dam, he was right, this place totally sucked for getting a ride. We were a little pistol shy of walking down to the main highway. This was really bad, we were thirsty and didn't have any water with us. We slugged on, the two greatest hitchhikers of all time, had hit a rough spot. Around 2 in the afternoon, our lucked changed.

We left the entrance to the highway, and walked to the main shoulder, and soon a beatup blue Mustang pulled up. A guy, maybe in his mid twenties was alone in this car, he was a skinny guy with glasses, a two day shadow on his chin.

I got in the front, and thanked him for picking us up. "Jeez, we were stuck in this spot for almost two hours, thanks a lot."

"Where you headed? or Where you headed today?" was tossed at him.

"Denver" he said.

Right on!

Heading West_33

2005-09-09T09:36:00.000-07:00

High in the Sierras

Ironically, we awoke quite close to an area of historical nature. We were almost reversing the Donner party journey of 1846

April of 1846, a party of 87 men, women and children cut over the Sierras via wagon train. Like many thousands before them, the Donners had every reason to look forward to their journey when they started out from Springfield, Illinois, in April of 1846. Countless wagon trains made the 2000-mile trek from Illinois to Oregon and California in the 1840s. Most people suffered various hardships along the way but managed to get over the Sierras and on to California in good health.

The party reached the base of the steep summit on October 31, just as snow was beginning to fall. And although some in the group were able to reach the summit, they were forced to turn back as there was no way the whole party could get through. Heavy snow continued falling overnight and by morning the pass was completely blocked by snowdrifts over twenty feet high. They had come 2,500 miles in seven months to lose their race with the weather by one day, only 150 miles from their destination of Sutter's Fort (what is now Sacramento) in California.

Back to us
We awoke to a sunrise and some cold conditions. We could see our breath in the cold morning air. I pulled my boots out from my "pillow" jumped into them, and we quickly got to the restaurant that had opened. "Coffee and a Hot Chocolate please", ordered Bob. He busted my balls in front of the indifferent waitress, about not drinking a man's coffee. Oh well. We sat at the counter and smiled, as the gas station was just being opened up. We had slipped by, one more night.

We hit the bathroom, brushed our teeth. Put on our baseball caps, and hiked down to the entrance ramp, and flagged down another big pickup truck. It had three middle aged ladies in bee-hive hairdos, they were going to gamble in Reno. We jumped in the back, leaned our packs against the cab wall side, and enjoyed the scenery. It was one of the best and prettiest ride of the trip. What a huge descent into the desert from these mountains!

Heading West_32

2005-09-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

With every ride, we climb into the Sierras

We were making 20-25 miles a hitch out of the Bay area.
Again, there was no money for hotels, we planned on sleeping on the move.
We would be shooting for Peoria and maybe a couple of days of freeloading at a college friend's home.

Most of the time, people who pick you up are on the lower end of the social scale, and their cars and their stories are reflective of their social strata.

We scored one very cool ride, going into Sacramento with a new car. I got the front seat on this one, a guy picked us up in a brand new Datsun 240Z. It was so fine in there, he had a green on black instrument panel, and a primo radio system. I got the guy talking about why he picked this car, and what he liked about it. I wanted one of these since they came out. I was just dying, I couldn't afford one of these for another 5 years!!

He was playing some Pacifica radio station, and we got to talking about politics. Sharp guy, had a sharp mind, and his car was just too styling for me this night. I wanted to switch places with this guy. Oh well.

The last ride of the night
The guy in the Z offered to put us up for the night. We declined, we both wanted to keep moving. We had never hitched this late before, it was after 11pm. Somewhere east of Sacramento, after waiting for about 40 minutes, a big Ford pickup with a camper shell pulled up.

It was a long haired guy, and he said he and his sister and girlfriend were in the truck, and they "had too much to drink". They were coming back from a party, and he could take us up near Donner or Truckee; two towns I had not heard about.

"I have to stick you in the back."
This wasn't the smartest thing we ever did. Hitchhiking involves a lot of trust or blind faith. We took the ride, he put us in the camper, apologized that he "had to lock the door or it would rattle" and we just laid up against the cab wall and listened to his music coming through the panel.

Two times he pulled over to the side of the road. No explanations, someone got out, and then got in, and we were moving again. Finally he pulled off the freeway, opened the door and let us out.
"My sister got sick a few times, that's why we pulled over".

"It's going to be a cold night tonite, it could get down to the 30's, here....."
He handed Farley a joint. Wow!

When his truck pulled away, we were standing on a off ramp in total darkness. We could hear the traffic on 80 below us, and our eyes adjusted to the dark. A stiff breeze blew around us, and whistled in these big pine trees. It was scary.

"Now what?"
"I think we are done for the night, there's no light for anyone to see us, let's camp up here"
"Are there any bears up here"
"You know, there probably are"
"Oh shit"

"Hey, look over there, its a gas station." Sure enough, a gas station was closed, it even had a restaurant near by it. We wlaked around the back of it and we found a parked pickup truck, a big one with a few pieces of canvas and wood in the back.

"Here's our hotel"

We climbed in the back, slid into our sleeping bags, and then fired up that joint.
The wind blew in the tall pines, and the stars were right in our faces. I kept my eyeglasses on to check them all out. We laughed and laughed, and then we got quieter and it was a wonderful night to sleep, probably the best of the whole trip.

"We better get up early before this station opens up."

Heading West_31

2005-09-09T08:44:00.000-07:00

Taking it back to Jersey

It's 9pm, and we're standing on an entrance ramp to Route 80 east.

This is Berkeley, California, and there are 6 people in front of us; we're in the back of the line, waiting for the front of the line to get off the ramp. We tried the trick where we walked toward the front of the line, like we quit hitching, and then stick our hands out real low and try to snag a ride. Nothing doing this night.

Bob and I got seperated for a few minutes, and now a 1/2 block from the entrance ramp, a guy pulls up in a Triumph Spitfire, and he has NJ plates on his car. "Hey, how far are you going?"
"Trenton".

Holy shit!.

"Hey Bob, get over here, this guy is going to Trenton! "
"I can only take one of you"
"Are you sure, we can squeeze in the one seat, or I can lay in the back"

Holy Jeez, what if he had a real back seat in this thing?
We would have made it in 6 rides west and 2 rides east for some kind of record!

"Sorry, this is my best friend, have a safe trip back. Ah Shit!"

Interstate 80 is one of the nation's longest interstate highways at 2917 miles, running from the junction with US 101 near the San Francisco Civic Center to I-95 in Teaneck, New Jersey

That guy could have been the meal ticket, 2900 miles, but no, on this trip,
this was a team sport.