I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack!!!!! (Better known as "The States, Part I - The Northwest")

http://www.mayflowertours.com/north-america/united-states/montana-glacier-national-park/

All right, it would seem that I have duly ignored this blog long enough!!  It's time I made something of it!!  Starting today, this blog will see posts every other day, mark my words.

And so...the subject of the day today?  "The States"

We're going to begin with something of a Mini-series here.  We'll just rename the blatant generality above to "The States, Part I -The North-West".  For those of you not familiar with the states we're referring to, I did plan on a whole mess of subheadings, never fear.  How about a little patience, hmm?

Washington.  I loved Washington state, but it's just too weird for me, all in all.  The state is divided into two distinct areas, the part that rains almost continuously, and the part that doesn't, it just seems like it might.  Then there's that thing where it stays gloomy 11 out of 12 months...that didn't exactly thrill me either.  I am, no doubt a sun lover (I never considered myself a sun-worshipper really.  I never really felt the need, nor did I ever have the body for it, even as a teenager) and I'm afraid that I'd have to shoot everyone around me after a few months of this, and myself immediately following.

However, what Washington lacks in weather, it more than makes up for in natural beauty.  With a rather intense mountain view in most parts of the state, and, of course, the ocean never too far off, it's like a family vacation right where you stand.  Even though it's only sunny for around a month out of any one given year, that one month is spectacular.  It literally transforms the landscape from doom and gloom one moment to bright and cheery sunshine the next (and each day in this month is absolutely PERFECT for temperature...never too hot or chilly ever!)  And the locals?  They almost literally make a mad dash for their suntan lotion and lawn chairs.  It kinda reminds me of a state full of squirrels, hoarding their nuts away for the winter months; these people are outside almost 24/7 in those 30 days; trying to soak up all the vitamin D they can before the clouds move back in.

The Cascade Mountains, which section the state off into the East 1/3 of the state and the West 2/3 of it, are, of course, absolutely breathtaking on sunny spring or summer days.  The East side of the mountains are the part of Washington no one really cares to live in, because it's constantly drizzly or foggy most of the year, and only sunny for that month in the summer, give or take a couple of weeks.  I can tell you personally, that, when you're used to the sun shining the better part of the spring and almost all of the summer, that it's extremely depressing weather.  Seattle, which borders the mountains (as do two other of Washington's major cities; Tacoma and Olympia, it's capitol city) share the better portion of the East side weather.  Seattle owns the proud title of having the highest rate of suicide in the country, due to its gloominess.  The East side of the mountains, however, has warm summers and only cool winters, and even though it's constantly cloudy, foggy and icky, it only sees around 6" of precipitation per year, and, because of the ocean currents, it's rare to see snow, unless you're very close to either the Cascade range of mountains, or in the middle of the Olympic Mountains, which are located in the NW side of the state.

The Western 2/3 of the state is almost dead opposite in it's make-up and weather.  The Western side of the Cascades, whose only city of any consequence is Spokane, gets a lot of snow in the winter, around 200" per year.  But, the temperature, on both sides of the mountains, really, rarely gets below 46 degrees F in the winter, and rarely exceeds 79 degrees F in the heat of summer.

Here's one more thing that I was never too hip on...Mt. St. Helens.  See, I came to Washington to visit my father there just after the time that the mountain had finished flipping it's lid back in '80 (which was well after the initial eruption;) however, it was still in the clean-up stage for a long while after that).  I remember that dead volcanic ash smell, and the dinginess of the landscape, where the volcano's ash not only stunted the growth of vegetation in the state, but wiped a good portion of existing trees in its initial eruption.  I went back later, and I really just couldn't believe the difference.  My point, however, is that I don't really feel anyplace that's that close to a volcano, active or not, is a good choice of residence...so either give me the flatter part, or just color me not there.

My most favorite thing about Washington, is that the most gorgeous and most interesting highway in the country starts here, and runs all the way down into Oregon and California, hugging the Pacific coast the entire way.  That highway is Hwy. 101.  It runs from Tumwater, Washington, all the way down to Los Angeles, California, where it was truncated in 1964.  Before 1964, it used to go all the way down to San Diego, California.

Oregon.  Oregon, not unlike it's neighbor to the North, is a beautiful state in its own right.  It's only real major metropolis, Portland, shares pretty much the same weather as the Eastern side of Washington, because it too is positioned along the Cascade mountain range's western base.  It's 2nd and 3rd biggest cities, Salem and Eugene are just South of Portland.  The amazing thing about Oregon is it's vast difference in geographical landscapes.  There are two mountain ranges in Oregon, just like there are in Washington, and they are the continuation of the Cascades, and the Klamoth Mountains, located in the Southwestern corner of the state.  To the West of the Cascades, there is a humongous plateau, which is like a desert in the summer, and bitterly cold in the winter.  South of the plateau is the Harney Basin, and in the middle of the two mountain ranges, there lies a wide and beautiful valley, in the Northwest Corner of the state.  Oregon sports the most forest land in the U.S., with trees covering easily 50% of the state.  Rain amounts are greatly varied, with some areas getting less than 20" of rain a year, to over 180" of rain in others.

Idaho.  Idaho, just to the west of Oregon, actually borders 6 U.S. states as well as one Canadian province.  Per capita, Idaho is the 7th least populated state in the U.S., when compared with its area.  Geographically, Idaho boasts as much variety in it as does Oregon.  There are 114 named mountain ranges in Idaho, albeit, most are considered to be of the Rocky Mountains.  Where the majority of the state is covered in high mountains, Idaho also sports the deepest gorge in the U.S., called Hell's Canyon.  That canyon dips to a maximum depth of 7900 ft.  As to the climate of Idaho, it averages a low at its coldest no lower than 10 degrees F., and no higher than 90 degrees F. at its highest temps in the summer.  Annual precipitation amounts range from as low as 10" in some areas, and at highs as large as 60" per year.  The population of the entire state of Idaho is at 1.5 million, but is one of the fastest growing states for overall population in the last few years, and is expected to grow even faster in the next 15 years.

Montana.  This state, believe it or not, is the 4th largest state in the union...but places 44th in population, and 48th least populated when compared to its size.  The Continental Divide divides Montana into two distinct regions, East and West.  Geographically, Montana is very mountainous, not unlike most of its state neighbors, but is made up of 60% plains.  There are 6 very large valleys in Montana, in the middle of its mountains, that are quite gorgeous, as well as over 3200 lakes.  Montana has one of the largest areas of Government protected wildlife preserves, with a wide array of protected species.  The more larger and most visited areas during the tourist season are Yellowstone Park, Glacier National Park, and Little Big Horn.  The climate in Montana varies about as much as the rest of the Northwestern states, the average low is only 28 degrees F., and the average high in the summer only reaching 84 degrees F.  Annual average precipitation is only 15".  The population of Montana is barely over one million, and is mostly collected in three of its biggest cities; Helena, the capital, Butte, and Billings.

If I had to put my finger on four of the more interesting states in the U.S., as far as natural beauty, climate variety (never too hot or cold), and, the real attraction, the least population spoiling things for everyone per square mile, I'd have to definitely choose these four.  The heck with Florida, I'd want to retire to any one of these.  That state's just too damned muggy and hot....and crowded!!  Never have been able to understand the attraction there, or the logic...with the obvious exception being ultra-tropical beaches and scantily clad women aside, I don't really see much else in Florida as anything I'd want anywhere around me at a retirement age.  The mountains alone are reason enough to go with these states.  Out of every natural attraction we have available in this country at which to spend our leisure time, the mountains still own the distinction of being the only thing that, year after year, I either watched until they disappeared from my sight, or I bawled like a baby when I was informed that we had to go.

Why You SHOULDN'T Travel at times

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4xEPLnO0F9J7REzPUqcHLDwjvzUT-IQl0qxcyXwQDDkSN-GZulTwikPj8ApQR4QNlV7x3KqcEQ1Jx7I2-e9DLG8LWz1B77vrT-Th7wiJg3NDZMbaQ8OdEyprsJbZ1lrtgXuFzNGMRPOo/s1600/05+1973+Ford+Mustang.jpg

Hey kids!!  Been a while, yes...yes I know.  *hangs his head in shame*...I've...well, I don't like telling you this...but I've been writing to another blog.  But don't worry, it doesn't mean anything to me, I swear it!!  For those of you that have no clue, I've been contributing a lot to America's Deadly Sins, my main girl.  She gets all the attention these days, I hate to say it.  But never fear!!  I've been knockin' 'em dead over there at

http://themightyswordamericas26deadlysins.blogspot.com

and really?  You really shoulda come by and check it out, it's the s***, for real!

Anyway, back to you, my faithful little viewers.  Compared to the 1200+ views and 725 unsolicited Twitter follows I have on the other one, yours is still in the infancy stage.  I do plan to change all that real soon, though, I promise.

We're gonna check into why you SHOULDN'T travel at times.  I have for you a tale that relates such bad fortune as to think maybe I was born under the unluckiest star in the cosmos.

*He leans back, and gets that faraway twinkle in his eyes*...Ah yes...I remember it all like it happened yesterday.  'Twas a winter's morn 1986 in the bustling micro-metropolis of Des Moines, Iowa, and I had just purchased my 2nd used car, a 1973 Ford Mustang.  From a Mustang fanatic's point of view, this was probably the Mustang's worst model year.  One thing the man decided to tell me, almost immediately was (as I myself noticed it) that there was a small snowball sized hole in the floorboard, about 5 inches away from the accelerator.  The tires were baby bald...and by baby bald, I mean I would have been afraid to rub my stubbly face against them for fear they'd pop.  It was an aptly-called piece o' crap, at a nice affordable $500...so I took it without fanfare, regardless of the issues involved.

Now, I'd had the car for about a month, and it was closing in on winter time, and there were two things that worked in concert against me and my newly acquired piece of property.  One, they had been talking about a massive snow system that was going to be moving in, and it was due to be a doozy.  They were estimating 18" of snow, then a small break, then another system that would dump around 12" more.  The problem with these sorts of weather reports is, they are very much guessing a lot of the time, and about the time they start guessing about something this big, they start talking about it.  Next thing you know after about 50 times of hearing it on the radio, and another 50 times seeing it on the news, you very much begin to doubt that it's ever going to happen at all.  This is, of course, a very real possibility; many times has a storm been predicted to hit, and it somehow manages to go another way and miss you entirely.  I would say the chances of that are probably even better the longer off the first prediction of it is.

Two, there was something very irritating that was wrong with my car.  It had been going on for some time, and it finally got on my last nerve.  Don't ask what is was, I can't rightly remember.  But there are secondary problems that usually don't affect the operation of the vehicle on a serious scale, but are definitely something you want to repair, usually for no better reason than that it bugs the crap out of you because it isn't working right.  Things in this category tend to include things like windows that won't roll up or down all the way (or at all), doors that won't lock, the horn quits working, things like that.  Well SOMETHING like that was wrong, and I'd had about enough of it.

So I called around to various parts stores in town, and found zip.  No one carried the part I wanted, in town. This was certainly more common back in the 80's, when they hadn't as yet put out repair kits and items that commonly break but aren't exactly lucrative for a parts store to carry, like cigarette lighter filaments and certain window parts.  It was 4:30 p.m., and certainly too late to hit any junkyards.  I made one more effort, and called up some of the more remote suburbs of Des Moines, and finally hit what I wanted in Bondurant, Iowa.  I called them up, and they said the store was open 'til five.

Now, something inside me started to scream out.  It was my sense of logic, and I obviously wanted no part of it.  This gave me only a half-hour to get out of town, around 15 miles or so, and it could have very well waited 'til morning.  The tires, which had already been bald when I bought it, were obviously even more bald now, a month or so later.  The problem wasn't all THAT serious, that could've waited as well.  There was something else, something I had blocked out, filed away way in the back of my noggin, but I just couldn't put my finger on what that something was.  I ignored all of this, and headed out.  About 2 miles or so from my destination, the weather took a dire change for the worst, and, against all logic, I began to see what I can only define now as a "torrential downpour"...of snow.  I've seen rain that came down in torrents, but this is the first time I'd ever seen a gully-washer in white format.

I had to open the door to truly believe what I was seeing through the windshield; and as I looked upwards, I got a face full of snow, shook my head in disbelief, then brought it back inside again.  It was the beginning of...yeah, you guessed it..."The great blizzard of '86", the one they'd been plugging for nigh on a week, and I was in it's dead center.  If that by itself didn't teach me not to ignore my gut feelings, nothing else in my life would, especially considering the position I was in at that moment.

There was a little bar in this burgh on the side of the road...I had driven past it about a million times, but never really felt the need to go there...til now.  No, now it was lookin' REAL good, my possible home away from home.  I zoomed in and plunked two quarters in the pay phone and called the parts shop to make sure they were still open..."NO, blizzard!!  Gotta lock it up!  Sorry!"  and I said " no wait, I'm only 5 minute..." and Click!!  They hung up on me!

I looked around...it was a lot bigger on the inside.  I thought maybe I should gather my thoughts over a beer or two, as long as I was there.  There were only 3 people in the whole place:  The bartender, a guy passed out at the end, and a real looker sitting by the bartender.  Naturally I made a beeline for the spot beside her, figuring since this was the liveliest place in the bar at the time, so surely no one would fault me for wanting to sit there.  I struck up a conversation with the beauty, and pretty soon we were talking like old friends.  I couldn't believe my good fortune.  Then, in the middle of my second beer, the door blew open, and three giant guys waltzed in.

The first two made their way directly to the bartender, with the third guy hanging back a little.  I was talking away, and didn't really notice him.  Next thing I know, I feel a huge finger tapping on my shoulder.

I whipped around to the sight of a man that was easily twice my girth, with hands that were almost as big as my head.  He said, in a voice a normal man with all his wits about him would have easily heard as a slight bullying tone..."You're sitting in my seat".

Now, I gotta tell ya America, my brain must have been on leave, or went AWOL, I can't remember, but I do remember what I said next very well.  It was easily the dumbest thing I could have said, surely.  Looking around the room, I spat out "Well, I just gotta say, there's about a 100 seats open in this bar, easily.  Tell ya what, I'm halfway through this beer, and when I finish, if you're still set on it, I'll give it up to you, OK?"  With a look that was half-crazed, then placid immediately, he said..."OK!".  Idiot me, I turned around again to continue my conversation.

Next thing I know, WHAM...right to my right temple.  After what seemed a lifetime after I initially blacked out, I came to and saw that the truck that ran me over was already being hauled out by his two friends, with the bartender behind me blathering "I can't believe he did that!  Dave never hits anybody!  Can I get you a shot?  On the house!"  I turned to say "uh yeah...shot of tequila?  I just now got a headache".  He grabbed me the tequila, and I slammed it down and proceeded to walk out of the bar.  I'd had quite enough of dingy dives and big guys named Dave, and I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.  I could already feel my face blowing up.

By now the snow was easily three inches off of the windshield.  I fired her up, and sat in the car waiting for the warm-up.  As soon as it was able, I slipped it into gear.

Now, obviously, I had been a bit out of it, because I failed to map my path out in what was now the dark, with so much snow coming down you could barely see the road, and I drove right into a ditch.  Sitting at the bottom of it, I thought I would never get out, thanks to the wonderful bald tires I still had on the car.  Lucky for me, I had just put a 150 lb. weight set in my trunk, or I would have never in life made it out.  A fortunate thing that.

Now in a huge hurry to get home, I made a turn onto the main drag back to town.  Remember the hole in the floorboard?  This was now tunneling snow into the space between the accelerator and the brake pedal as I drove.  Driving as fast as I was able, I got about a half a mile down the road, when the window on the driver's side went "WOMP"...right off of its track and in the mucho down position.

There was only one place in town that was open at this time of the day that could do anything about the window, and it was a good 7 miles away from my current position.  Nothing could stop the steady stream of snow from coming in from the floor, or through my open window.  I pulled into the garage, seven miles hence, with my feet so numb I could barely feel them, sporting a now very black and blue eye, with my hands almost frozen to the wheel.  The mechanic came to the window and began to say "Is there some...thing...I ...can..."  Without giving him the chance to finish, I glared intently at him with my black eye firmly in view and said "Fix....the goddam....WINDOW!

So kids?  The moral of the story?  There are indeed times to NOT travel, even on a short basis.  And if it feels as though you shouldn't be driving?  DON'T DO IT!!  Sleep on it.  Save it for the next morning, you'll thank me.

Thanks for listening!!  :D

Mr. Worldly Talks About Traveling Overseas

http://www.uzana-tourism.com/

Hey kids, it's Mr. Worldly again, back for yet another round of what to do when you go wherever it is you decide you wanna go.

Today's subject?  Traveling Overseas

Now, I've taken 'em all.  Boat, train, car, plane, walk, greyhound, taxi, family vacation, you name it, I've done it.  All except the South American Chicken Bus, and the oriental rickshaw.  I leave those for the natives.  Neither one looks like all that much fun anyway.

One thing I have to say about going overseas however...OK, a couple things maybe.  First, if you're going to go somewhere, try and remain in your own general band of the earth, from north to south.  What do I mean by that?  Well, let's go there.  Ever watch "The Monsters Inside Me" on Animal Planet?  If you have any sense, don't.  It's gross.  All I'm saying is, stay within your band.  Whether or not it's North or South of the equator, stay in your general climate, whatever climate it might be that you're used to.  In other words, Germany?  Cool.  Brazil?  Works for me.  Most areas of Australia?  Perfect.  China?  Acceptable.  South Africa?  Don't see why not.

Columbia?  Peru?  Chile?  Turkey?  Indonesia?  Nigeria?  I wouldn't advise it unless you've thoroughly investigated the matter.  Don't stop at general vaccinations, really look into the "wildlife."  Some of the insects in these places...Bot flies, mosquitoes, ticks, just to name a few...all those nasties carry even nastier parasite ridden diseases in places like that.  I won't go into it.  If your curiosity borders on morbid, I already plugged the show, check it out for yourself.  Bring a big bag for throwing up, you might need it.

2nd, I'd like to say that tour groups, or trips with large family groups (including tons of kids) take all the fun out of vacationing, especially in other countries.  That's what America is for.  Vacationing where you live should always be a family affair.  If groups are what you're all about, I strongly suggest cruises.  That way, everybody has activities they can do to keep them busy.

Tour groups take all the fun out of going to another country.  Your "itinerary" generally includes a massive amount of really boring crowded group activities where they insist you stay with them.  Basically, anytime you see something interesting outside of where you're touring....tough.  There's no going off on your own.  Trust me.  Go by yourself, or just with the wife.  If it's a family vacation?  Wait til the boys are old enough to go off on their own.  And keep your daughters right under your arm.  Don't let 'em get more than 2 feet away from you.  Movies like "Taken" should be reason enough to believe me there.  And if it's going to be a family vacation, and you're just stuck with it?  Don't count on seeing or doing a lot of whatever it is YOU want to do.  Do what you need to, but I'll say it again, if you want to get the most out of your vacation, then do it alone.  Believe me when I say that, when you're in Germany and the older Germans start dragging you down to their table, wanting you to drink with them and buying you a beer (for no other reason than just that they're happy drunk people when they party), you'll be happier that the wife wasn't there to pull you right back out again.

Depending on the type of person you are, you might want to try out different things when you go to other continents.  If you're the physical type, seeing Germany (as well as other countries who have adopted this method as their own) utilizing the Volksmarch is a great way to see....well, EVERYTHING (Volksmarch is German for "the people's march).  These people rarely miss anything traveling like this.  You go approximately 10 km (get used to the metric system if you're in Europe...well, just about anywhere, besides here in the U.S.) on an outdoor trek, usually someplace very interesting.

If you're not the "outdoorsy" type, well then just go out and find things that excite you.  Art, architecture, night-life, music and more are not only easy to find, they're usually better that anything we've experienced in America.  You have to remember, we're about the youngest country on the planet, everybody's got it over on us, where culture and just plain old "Having a good time" are concerned.

Where to go, exactly, always seems to be an issue.  There's so much to see that you've heard about!!  Well, I'll tell you, if you're going to Europe, a lot of places there are massively over-rated.  Try and keep it simple.  Don't jump for the big places you've heard about all your life, like London, Kiev, Paris, Tokyo...these places are New York City, just on other continents.  Most are loud, crazy with people, and very expensive to experience.  Now, if you're really into something in these places...you know, like art (so you want to see Paris), your family tree (your parents were from London), or you're curious about the tech world and want to go to where tech is a household given (Tokyo), then I fully recommend those places.  No, where you want to go is really as far away from places like that as you can.  I spent a good amount of time with a German family in an area of Germany that wasn't very populated once, and I had such a good time that I never went back to the big cities of most countries again, where before I had always zoomed in on places like that, like I'm sure most of you do.  Amsterdam.  Dublin.  Nuremberg/Berlin, Manchester, Madrid, Athens.  After you've seen the biggie stuff that everybody sees, then head for the hills and smaller places.  Once you get a load of the people that aren't big city, you'll wonder strongly why you went any other way.

I'd have to say that the most important thing about going to other countries though, is watch what you eat.  The people that are indigenous to these countries are used to eating their own food...that's why it's called German food or Indian food...because those people eat it the most.  They have their own little immunities that they've built up to their own germs and so on, so of course they lived after they ate...whatever that is...that doesn't necessarily mean that you will.  Try to stick to foods you recognize, and for God's sake, make sure it's COOKED.  If you see any red whatsoever, RUN.  Most importantly though, stay away from Sushi or steak tartar (rare beef.)  See paragraph 3, above.  Don't ask your Aunt Hilda what she ate when she went, her dementia could very well be due to what she ate and got out of eating it while she was there, you don't know.  And if you're philanthropic in nature, say you give whole blood or plasma, or you are an organ donor, due to your curiosity, and while in Rome, doing what the Romans do and eating what they eat could very well put an end to that sort of activity (i.e., Mad Cow's disease from eating beef in the UK, for instance).

Well, that's my installment for today.  Smile!

The Hitch-hikers Guide... To Not Hitch-hiking (Part II)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hitchhiker%27s_gesture.jpg

When last we met, I had just arrived in Tacoma, WA. I spent 3 weeks hanging out with my father; he was pretty cool, as father's go. I was so obviously a carbon copy of the man, and like I said in Part I, it was....well it was interesting at its worst, and that's all I'm going to say on the matter. When it came time to say adios, I trekked out to the interstate and headed due south, towards my native state of California. My reasons for going, of course, were to see what my home was like, now that I was grown. I sure wasn't into women when I was 8 (obviously, this had changed big time), but we had made a trip back when I was 15, and I made the natural discovery that there were tons of scantily clad women in Los Angeles, and the better portion of them were GORGEOUS. My cousins, who were 10-12 yrs. old when I had first met them, had moved there, and my last set of foster parents (whom I had been with for nearly four years) had just moved there as well, so it wasn't like I didn't know anyone there.
I somehow got wind of a well-known Highway that hugged the coast all the way south (101), so I made a beeline for that.  I was quickly tiring of the Interstate anyway (it was quite boring; you never really got to see much of anything but concrete), and, if you don't remember, it was illegal to be on the interstate anyway.  NOTE:  Again, it was really quite hard to not get sidetracked here, the story of my childhood was quite involved, as well as extremely variegated, and would take volumes to write about.  I'm just not going there, for any reason...yet.  Just a simple fact alone relating to that part of my life, I was in as many schools as I was in grades.  That alone should serve as a good enough reason to refrain.

I got quite a ways in no time flat, per usual, and then crossed the line into a county I had no idea was quite infamous.  That county was none other than Humboldt county, and I was oblivious to the fact that it was well-known for many an acre of the strongest Marijuana and Sensimilla grown anyplace in California.  Naturally, as is my fortune, I was picked up as I neared this county by a dealer of this very Sensimilla, and was, within minutes offered some.  I hesitated only briefly (I had smoked pot the better portion of my high school years already, so I was no "green" thumb), when the man said that it was so good that I'd be in the back seat before I got two hits in, then dove into it.  One thing I barely remember is that he wasn't joking either, not even a smidge.  Higher than the proverbial kite, he dropped me off sometime later, proffering as a parting gift, a "quarter" of it.  If I remember right (and believe you me, that time was a little blurry), that quarter lasted me for almost 3 weeks.

I arrived in Lost Angeles, got a job, and lived there for almost a month and a half.  It was just turning into the summertime there, and the weather was a sunny/smoggy 70-80 degrees the entire time I was there, give or take a degree.  I spent most of that time in Artesia, an upper middle-class neighborhood.  The beach was merely a bus-ride away, and I spent a lot of my free time there, remembering how much I had enjoyed it as a kid.

When I chose to pack up the duffel and once again take on the highway, I got a ride just outside of Los Angeles, going East towards Arizona.  I remember jumping into a well-air conditioned Lincoln Towncar, out of an 80 degree day.  When I exited the car, just after Palm Springs, it felt as if someone had just turned on a blowtorch.  It was well over 100 degrees in the shade, and I was hardly prepared to face it.  I was, of course, broke, so I couldn't afford to be buying anything to drink, and quickly located what was to become my emergency water bottle, in a ditch:  an empty 32 oz. Budweiser bottle.  I had already been duly warned NOT to drink what could only be identified as "river sludge" out of the very nasty Arizona river...but a lot of walking in the hot middle of the day sun soon convinced me that if I didn't, I wouldn't have survived the walk.  Fortunately for me, a very wealthy local picked me up, took me to his home and practically threw me into his backyard pool.  When I finished indulging in that, he told me to take a shower, then filled a gallon jug with nothing but ice, and gave it to me for the upcoming trip.  He dropped me under an overpass, and told me to nurse the jug.  It was 120 degrees, even under the bridge, and I think I went through the jug in about 30-45 minutes.  I remember I got a few short rides from there through Phoenix and somehow survived to get into Santa Fe, NM.  Just south of Santa Fe, as it got very dark, I chose to take up with what was probably the dumbest ride I could have accepted.  A smart person would have seen the 24 empty cans of beer in a flat in the back window of the car, that, by the way, was filled with 5 very drunk people, and said "Uh-UH."  But not me.  No sir.  Not only did I get in, I even bragged my ignorance by letting them put my duffel bag in the trunk!  (Naturally, since there were already 5 people in the car, a sixth one would definitely have put an end to the idea of a duffel bag going in with me, so I went along with it.)

After about ten minutes of a lot of shouting and drinking, I finally said "You know what?  I really should get out here, I have a friend that just lives right over there...".  I was pointing, hilariously enough, at a solitary pair of outhouse-sized "restrooms" that served as a marker to a wimpy little town named Wagon Wheel, which, probably, consisted of a dude ranch, a convenience store and a family of 12, all living in the same house.  Not that I could actually see to determine any of that.  It was 11 o'clock at night and there were no lights, stars or moon to shine enough illumination to even see where the road was.

As I got out of the car and managed to exhale, the driver got out to open the trunk for me...then, when I had my back turned and there was no shot at me making it back to the back door, he turned and jumped back into the car and drove off with everything I called mine at the time, including several sets of brand new clothes and personal items.  Add to that, I was in the middle of literally nowhere New Mexico, in the middle of the night, with no cell phone and not 50 cents in my pocket.  As I walked south, there was maybe 1 car for every 15 minutes that went by, and, of course, no one stopped.  I was screwed.  As I got further away from the outhouses, I suddenly felt utterly alone.  Every car that zoomed by me made me more desperate just to get ANYWHERE and FAST.

After about 5 cars went by without even slowing (this was in about an hour's time), I had an idea.  If I couldn't get them to stop for "conscious" me, maybe I could get them to detour for "wounded" me.  I promptly laid down on the side of the road...and waited.  Before long, a car zoomed past, then stopped and backed up as I watched, with one eye slightly open.  Next thing you know, a semi pulled off the road, then before long, there was two or three more cars stacked up next to me.  After that, the highway patrol came along, at which time I figured it would be a great time to "come to" long enough to relate my tale of a car full of drunken idiots, who had whacked me over the head and stolen all of my things.  Then came an ambulance, and I got a free ride to a hospital in Las Vegas, NM.  They didn't find a bump on my head, but they thought it might be a good idea if I stayed with them for a few days until I was sure I was OK.  A cute nurse, who had been pretty much taking care of me that few days, decided I wasn't going back out there with nothing, and decided I was going home with her, and she wasn't going to take no for an answer.  Who was I to deny her?

Even though she had inferred that I was able to stay as long as I wanted, and even after my little "experience", the road and I had gotten to know each other pretty well, and it began calling my name again.  I thanked my benefactor and bid my adieus.  Off I ran again, and this time, ended up in what I call "the terrible twos"...better known as the two states I hate the most, Texas and Oklahoma, in that order.

Denton TX, a town boasting approximately 50,000 inhabitants became a very temporary haven for me.  It was a college town that sprawled over a slab of some of the driest land I have ever stepped on.  I couldn't believe it, but most of the town was dirt road...they had only paved a few more used thoroughfares.  Another thing I came across, for the first time, were bars that you couldn't drink in without being a member, and you had to bring your own bottle.  That was different.  Needless to say, I didn't drink a lot there.  It rained once while I was there, and not long after that, I experienced a plague in Denton containing some of the largest blood-sucking mosquitoes I had ever laid eyes on.  I high-tailed it out of there and never looked back.  I had no love for Texas whatsoever, that was evident.

I made my way North through Amarillo, then weaved my way up to Oklahoma City.  I was picked up by a man who wanted me to come home with him and "the wife", and stay for a spell.  The wife was gorgeous, and he made it known to me, in private, that if I stayed the night, she would be my reward.  Then when I was about to bed down for the night, he proceeded to make it known that he wanted to be my reward too.  It wasn't long before I decided to vacate that little arrangement as well.

I made my way back west again...though I'm hard-pressed to remember why; I took I-40 West, and ended up in yet another hole in the ground:  Sayre, OK. It was in the middle of the temporary oil boom they enjoyed in Oklahoma, and there were jobs a plenty.  I discovered too that there were scorpions a-plenty as well; I think I killed 3 or better during my life there.  I took on a job delivering oil in a bobcat to the oil lubester tanks at the drilling sites that dotted the Oklahoma landscape at the time.  The "boom" ended not long after that, and as quickly as thousands of people had swarmed into Oklahoma, they deserted it.  Needless to say, I lost that job, and headed back towards Oklahoma City.

It was almost the beginning of the fall season, and I found out that the State Fair was running around that time.  Even though I didn't have a lot of experience working for the fair, I thought maybe this would be a good place to get some work.  I applied, and got a job working the double Ferris wheel.  It was really easy work, and it paid very well.  Then I found out why.  Working this ride meant you had to tear it down and put it up, when those times came along.  Being stuck for it, I did as I was told.  It was no fun for a guy with height issues, I'll have you know.  I continued on though, because I was intrigued with the spot we were to occupy next, the tour's final resting place:  Birmingham, AL.  I hadn't ever been to the official South, and was excited that we were going there.  After we got there and set up the ride, the fair began.  In Oklahoma City, it had surprised me how few people attended the fair.  The fairgrounds in Birmingham, on the other hand, was simply bursting at the seams.  I don't think I've ever had such a good time.  It was ten days of heaven for me, I met and went out with a different girl every day of the fair.  It was a literal buffet of Southern belles.  A woman with a southern accent would become a real weakness for me.  As I progressed through the days, I somehow managed to eek out a promise to each one, swearing they would be the one getting all of my attention at the end of the fair.

On the last day, we were overcome by almost double the crowd, if that was even remotely possible.  Worse yet, the line to our ride was easily the longest, stretching for what seemed like miles, and it never let up until the end of the fair.  In that line, spread out evenly, thank God, on the ride, and standing close by, was every woman that I had been with that week, all waiting for me to give them an indication as to when I would be done.  The world's greatest poker dealer would have been envious of my shuffling skills that night.  As they exited the ride, I gave each one a different hour they were to "come back and get me."  This got them away from my ride for a while, as well as gave me a chance to think about which one I would leave with.  The time came, and I chose to stay with a gal who lived close by the grounds.  After a number of weeks, I ducked out (much to her dismay of course), promising to return as soon as I could.  I never did.  I went back to that city long after that, around 1999.  I couldn't believe it was the same town.  Destroyed quite obviously by the effects of crack, it didn't take me long to make my way through it as quickly as I could, and never returned.

It was almost 8 months after I had left that I made it back to Iowa, in the middle of a dead nasty winter, on the coldest day of that year.  1982 had been one of the most memorable and absolutely FUN years of my life, and many a time I wished that it was still that way, so I could do it again, even now.  My decision to not wait til I was 70 and too old to enjoy my retirement was an excellent one, and played a giant part in carving out who I am today.  If it's at all possible to still hug the highways and see the U.S., I highly recommend it.  If nothing else, it builds character.  Take my advice, there's no better view of the United States than from the side of the pavement.  A person misses way too much just "passing through" in their vehicles.  :D

Intro to Mr. Worldly - The Hitch-Hiker's Guide...To Not Hitch-Hiking - Part I

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/8213449/Hitchhiker-with-tall-tales-swindles-money-out-of-French-motorists.html

Good afternoon! My name is Christopher Bruce, and I'm a guy who's been around the block. One or 2000 times anyway. I was born in Long Beach, California, and I guess you could say I was born a Navy brat. Well, only if you do so insistently. You see, I was sort of an unexpected child. I could easily bore you with the details (which, by the way, are juicy as heck), but that's not what this blog is about. Someday, if I get enough interest, or if I get more than one wild hair, I may just start a blog about my very unusual life. It took an a lot of interesting events to become the person I am today, believe that. It's really a wonder I haven't had one mental breakdown after another, but somehow or another, I managed to always pull myself up by my bootstraps. Sort of.

Anyway, moving right along.  My parents were divorced when I was four years old, and my father and I had spent some time together from time to time, but I lived with my mother full-time.  When I was eight, my mother tired of life in Los Angeles, and, since she was single (and would remain so until this day), she decided she'd rather move back to where she was from - The late great state of Iowa.  Talk about culture shock.  Even an eight year old boy can readily notice the absurd difference in leaving a city of 5,000,000 and moving to a town of 20.  Note:  You don't really know me as yet (unless you scouted out my profile, in which case, you'd be massively more enlightened), but my style of humor reeks of the likes of Bill Murray, early Tom Hanks, George Carlin and Chevy Chase.  Sarcastic, dry, twisted...you get the idea.  I love to make people laugh, and one of my favorite tricks is extreme exaggeration, so if you don't get something, turn it around, hold it up to a mirror, and if you can take it wrong, don't.  I probably didn't mean it that way.  I tend to be a bit ambiguous.  If I mean it wrong, you'll know it, trust me.

Another thing you may notice is that it's a little easy to distract me, almost as easy as it is for me to distract myself.  I'm slightly ADD (as many affluent and really good authors are), so shiny objects work, as well as quickly and subtly changing the subject.  You can also just point upwards and stare intently in the same direction - that'll probably work too.  If I do get off of the subject, never fear.  After around 10 or so sentences, I'll get back to what the article was about...at some point.  If the number 10 doesn't do the trick, well, it's guaranteed that at SOME point, before the article is finished, I WILL get back to it.  That I promise.

So she loaded up the truck and we moved to Ida Grove (and if you sing that to the tune of the Beverly Hillbillies theme song, it works!).  I won't even attempt to tell you the 524,655 things that happened in the next 8 years, but trust me when I say it was a real blast.  Note #2:  I've been trying to invent a way to make my words "drip" with sarcasm, so if anyone has any good notes on the subject, I'd sure appreciate them so I can move forward on this.  I just can't put my finger on how to do it.

When I turned 16, I found out just where my father had gone.  He had (very smartly, I'll just say that) disappeared off of the face of the earth about the time I turned 7, and somehow had come to a moral epiphany, and had finally told my mother that he was in Tacoma, Washington; I can only guess that this was to, vicariously through my mother, get that information to us, in case we wanted to make contact.  When I found this out, I made it my personal mission to get there to see him.  This was in 1976, and getting around the country was actually pretty simple.  If you had a thumb and a duffel bag, you didn't need money.  You just waltzed out to your favorite interstate or highway, and let the nice people on the road do all the work for you.  Hitch-hiking was most certainly the favorite option of the lower-middle-class, as well as being a vehicle for a host of non-working Vietnam veterans.  Riding the Greyhound bus ANYWHERE was the best nightmare you could experience for any price between $10-$150, and the chance of Mr. Worldly's mother taking him to see his father, whom she despised, or lending him the money for a plane ticket...well, let's just say I had a better chance of joining the Army at 16, although I had heard of certain recruiters trying that a few times, just to get their commissions and keep their quota numbers at the levels the government had mandated.  So at 17, I gave it my very best go.  I called my father, and told him to not be surprised if I showed up on his doorstep someday, packed....NOTHING, and just high-tailed it out to I-80.

Now, this was actually fairly naive of me to do.  Not only was this was a time when a few hundred children of varying ages had disappeared off of the face of the earth, never to be seen again, but I was a hitch-hiking tenderfoot.  I didn't even know anyone who had actually done it to get pointers from.  By the way, I actually almost was a "Johnny Gosh" myself (in case you're not familiar with the name?  Google it!), when I decided to work at the fair one year.  That's another story, another time.  The Big Man upstairs however seemed to have other plans for me, although I'm still trying to figure out what those plans were. It must have been pretty important, however, because I'm still here...amazingly enough.  I wasn't any Mel Gibson, but I was a handsome kid, and highly desired, unfortunately, by more than just the fairer sex.  Again, these are stories I have no space to relate.  Get me too far off track and this blog could break a few length records.

It was 80 degrees, and hot, humid and sunny when I left Des Moines, and I spent no more than 10-15 minutes on the road before rides presented themselves, so I progressed very quickly to the very boring state of Nebraska...which I was sure would NEVER end!  I then made it across that to the wilds of Wyoming.  By now I had become elevated a great deal above sea level, and the temperature that night had dipped to near 40.  I had brought no coat.  It never occurred to me that the weather would actually change.  In August?  No way!  Freezing, I continued on.  Somehow, later on, while I slept peacefully in the passenger's seat in a car that belonged to a man I didn't originally see as someone I would want to travel that far with, I made it to the ice age that was the opposite side of the state, only to be greeted by 2 ft. of freshly fallen snow and frigid temperatures, suited only to Eskimos and polar bears.

Needless to say, I haunted the truck stop I ended up at, and took also to knocking on the window of every semi I could find, in order to find a ride to Washington.  After what seemed like a million semis and a week or so, I knocked on the truck window of a real winner named Cameron.  He wasn't going my way either...but related to me that, if things got desperate, I could go the other direction with him, in essence, offering me a ride back from whence I had come.

As much as I abhorred the idea of defeat and running back to Des Moines with my freezing cold coat-less tail tucked between my legs, I finally assented, and got in to head back East.  As we drove and talked, I noticed that, on occasion, he would lift his fist to his mouth and breath in.  I had no idea what he was doing, but he did it an awful lot.  When I took a better look at him, he was rather unkempt, glassy-eyed, and tended to slur his words.  I finally screwed up enough courage to ask him what he was doing, and, without even blinking, he spat it out.  He was a spray paint "huffer", hooked on Toluene, an ingredient found in spray paint cans.  He sprayed it onto a cloth, then, as we drove, (and for all the other minutes he existed, I discovered later) breathed it in whenever he could handle it.  Now I was pretty much in fear of my safety...but I continued to converse with him as normally as I could muster...here I had a ride that was going all the way back to where I had come from, so I gave him a chance to see if he had enough wits along to get the job done, where the end of the story came to its ending with me making it home in one piece.

Surprisingly enough, he was more than lucid enough to drive in a straight line.  I had no idea at all about the dangers of spray paint sniffing, heck, I hadn't even met anyone who had ever done it before.  I decided I would stick with this ride, if for no other reason than the fact that it was a sure thing, and the only ride I'd need to find on my return journey home.

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but Cameron, who was from Grand Rapids Michigan, somehow managed to convince me to go all the way to Michigan, where he promised me I would have a place to live and a job in no time.  As I mentioned before, I had no desire whatsoever to re-appear in Des Moines again, in a time span that couldn't have exceeded a week's time, only to present a story of unpreparedness and failure in my bragged about mission.  We stopped at a truck stop, on my urging, to call my father collect to tell him I wasn't going to make it just yet, and why.  We arrived in Grand Rapids soon thereafter.

We'll just skip right on over the events that followed that year, as well as the immediate years that followed.  This is because my days as a hitch-hiker had ended...at least at that time they had.  I had no further desire to put my life on the line until I had a better shot at growing up a little (although "growing up" as most people like to define it, didn't really happen for me until I was in my later 20's).  Let's run ahead then, to my next inspired hitch-hiking attempt, which, by the way, lasted a heck of a lot longer than I ever expected it to.

I was 21, and was feeling my oats with a vengeance.  I had just finished a dance with Uncle Sam and the U.S. Army, and it was time to roam free and see the U.S.  This time I had a fresh duffel bag that I really didn't see me ever having a use for outside of the service.  I packed it to the brim with my clothes, and jammed in a slew of personals to boot.  The menagerie of things I packed, of course, also included 2 coats of varying thickness this round...there was no way that I was going to get caught in the middle of a strange area in 2 feet of snow and sub-degree penguin-friendly temps again without a coat, I'll tell you.  I once again called my father, who, not surprisingly, more or less brushed my information lightly off of his shoulder, with a bit of a verbal "flick" that, not unlike a dog-whistle sound, was so obviously only for me to hear.  He lightly chuckled and said "OK, well, just call me when you arrive, and I'll come and get you."

And so off I trekked, again in the very direction that once had cowed me to the point where I seriously doubted I would ever do such a thing again.  Once again, I have kind of a hard time imagining myself a true hitch-hiker, as real road-weary-type hitch-hikers can brag many a mile of hardcore walking in between destinations.  In the time I spent on the road, I only experienced one time that I ever spent more than 30 minutes out on the road, and I never spent any of that time walking.  Granted, it didn't take me long to discover that, when you came to the edge of a big city anywhere, that you would be condemned, usually, to walk from one end of it to the other.  People in big cities just tend to NOT pick people up.  Most drivers are just going to work, coming home from work, or are out running short errands.  I quickly learned to just shuck the thumb in favor of turning my back on traffic and commit myself to getting some needed exercise.  Of course, people who saw me walking a lot of times picked me up regardless, knowing full well what I was striving to accomplish.  I once spent an entire hour trying to get a ride in Needles, CA, but this was due to the fact that California and Kansas, at that time, were the only two states who had made being directly on the interstate illegal.  Like it is in almost every state these days, you could only solicit a ride on the on-ramp.  This really makes a lot of sense anyway, since people on the freeway were doing 50-80 mph, and people entering the freeway were just getting started, usually going a whole lot slower, and more likely to pull over and pick you up.  The problem was, there was only about a tenth of the traffic available, since people obviously used every on-ramp in the city to get on it.  The police didn't usually didn't "ticket" you, but they sure warned you strongly enough, then drove by a couple of times to show they intended to enforce those warnings.  They threatened arrest and jail time if they caught you doing it, that was inspiration to stay off of it a-plenty.

I made it easily enough to the border of Wyoming, and then I paused for thought.  I was broke, hungry, and badly needed a real shower (a good portion of your time spent using your thumb tends to involve a lot of "stand-up showers", where you use a restroom sink to clean the outside of yourself the best you can and hope to come across a reasonable method of doing the real thing later).  Sure, there had been an offer or two of a "free dinner", and "you want something to drink?", so I wasn't dying by any means, but if I was going to make it all the way with any hope of having a few bucks on me when I got there, I might have to actually do a little work.  Remember, this is 1982 and there were literally about 50% more jobs in the U.S. then there was people to work them.  My best and easiest job, I figured, would be to get a job in a restaurant, where I knew they wouldn't even pause for breath, but would thrust an application at me and say "can you start NOW??"  These of course were also the days where no one really cared who you were or what you might have done in your past as well.  I-9's hadn't even been invented yet, and IDs were considered a formality, not a necessity.  Your social security card definitely didn't matter whatsoever to anyone.  An owner or manager would have laughed heartily at a suggestion from anyone suggesting that they do any kind of a personality or background check, that's for sure, and waiting two to three weeks for the job to call you was pretty much rare to non-existent.  If there was a help wanted sign in the window, you could bet on the fact that, if you presented yourself fairly well at your 5 second interview (which usually consisted of the questions "What's your name, where are you from, have you ever done this before?", then the statement "you're hired!", then finally "Can you start right away?") that you were about to be employed.

After spending about 3 hours in the wonderful budding burg of Pine Bluff, Wyoming (actually it was about 3 weeks, but I like to think it was only 3 hours.  I try my best to forget that little hole and every person in it), I then continued on to the almost forgotten task I had set out to do.  On the border of Tacoma, WA, I called my father, and promptly floored him.  He mumbled a bit, then said he was on the way to pick me up.  What happened next I refuse to relate on the grounds that it might be a bit graphic, mixed with a cup and a half of morally offensive, so I will pass on that story, with no regrets.

To finally reach the end of this rather long blog post, I have concluded that there is no chance this post will ever survive to it's inevitable resting place without a "Part II".