A Living Magazine - Day 49 - Jared and the Road of Tolls

Waking up in the same spot I'd slept two days before made me wonder whether those days had actually been a dream. It was an odd sensation. But then I remembered that I had an appointment to keep with the General Delivery window of the post office.

I was up and out the figurative "door" in no time, and on my way across the Union Street Railroad Bridge, leaving West Salem, and later, Salem itself, for perhaps the last time in my life. I always get a strange and sad feeling when I leave a place I've gotten to know. It even happened in Redding, California - believe it or not - when the bus I was riding on touched the sacred asphalt of Interstate 5. This time though, I truly knew that I would miss what had become my "City of Peace". But the day was still yet to unfold.

On the bridge, I walked alone. The sun was still in bed and the Friday night revelers were too. I saw this confusing sign...

Knowing the faster route to the post office this time, as well as having plenty of time before the 10:00 am opening hour, I walked slower. My feet were a little bit sore anyway, so it was good to take it easy. Along State Street, basketball hoops had been set up for some kind of tournament the afternoon before. The hoop stands have water-filled tanks that are heavy enough to keep them down, and this is the truck that filled them...

Nice to see military gear being used for what it SHOULD be doing: Filling basketball hoop bases. 

Question for New Englanders: Where is the trash? Now go out and look down your street.

As you know by now, I'm a sucker for a pretty flower.

Nice to see the city had all its ducks in a row.

I walked past this cat who couldn't decide whether to greet me or not.

Too late, buddy! I'm on a mission from gaaad.

Almost walked down to see if they had girlfriend for me.

As I neared the post office on 25th Street, I had to take a picture of the "Coffee in Motion" bus. Hard to believe, but this place is open 24 hours a day! Absolutely need an espresso at 3:45 am? This is your place...   

So, there I was, WAY too early. Sitting on the brick wall of the Salem Post Office, wondering why the hell I'd gone there at 7:00 am when they open at 10:00, unable to buy a coffee or anything to eat, I just pulled out my laptop and fiddled around with trying to get online.

Meet Jared Pendelton

Another guy came along and asked what time they opened. I told him and he settled down, near the door. When I'd drained my laptop battery to about 48%, I shut it down and just sat there. Time: 8:30. After about 45 minutes the other guy came over and asked if he could hang out while we waited. It was no problem with me. We started talking, and I began to realize what a cool guy he was.

His name was Jared Pendleton (I hope I got the last name right?). He was there to pick up his paycheck via General Delivery. He had it sent that way, because he was paid on Fridays and the payroll company could get it to the post office on Saturdays faster than they could get it to his mailbox--which would be on Mondays. Made sense to me.

He told me a bit about his job. He recycles wooden pallets. It's hard, physical work. Pallets - as most people know - are heavy to begin with. He tears off the small boards and keeps the two by fours to be used again. He explained how they put notches in those two by fours, with a large spinning grinder, making them ready for reuse. Unbelievably, he said he processed 600 pallets a day! But, you know what? I believed him.

As we spoke he mentioned idea after idea for businesses and inventions he had thought of. And these weren't just pipe dreams, they were practical and well-thought out. Without revealing too much (as he might be getting patents on some of these someday), one idea was for a spacer that could be tied to things you might transport on the roof of your car. It allowed the support lines to be held in place, through the front windows of the car, while you are still able to open the doors.

Another idea had to do with a hydraulic lift for pickups or fifth wheelers, with three cylinders operating independently to raise, adjust and lower heavy loads.

I thought his most practical idea was a laundromat that had a playroom for kids, Wi-Fi, and a customer service aspect, where the attendant could do some of the laundry or help with other aspects. His ideas always seemed to include a "service" aspect. He understood the value of giving a good impression, and how that brings customers back. He also was very interested in charitable or non-profit sharing and trading. We discussed how originally humanity survived on barter alone. Money had now become a debt-based tool. The people who don't have enough of it have gone back toward trading and barter--sometimes with spectacularly positive results for the communities where that kind of system is used.

Jared is 34 years old, has three great kids and a devoted girlfriend. Being a hard worker, and a deep thinker, is a good combination. He may not have had the advantages of a full education, but he is making up for that now, and will be taking classes. He is also the kind of guy you might meet who you know that a lack of education will not slow him down in life. To be ambitious, but realistic, to dream big, but be very clear-headed is rare. He wants to build an "empire" of business security that his kids can then inherit, and have them be free from generational debt he has dealt with (he was left with the debt of his father's house when he died).

I told him about my project, and he thought that was pretty cool. I also gave him some information about SCORE, and its free mentoring system and connections to the Small Business Administration for possible loans. I also offered to help him with a business plan via email, should he want to solidify any of his interests, as I cross the country.

Finally, the inside wooden door opened for General Delivery. Jared let me go first, and YAY!!, there was my package. We continued to talk while he waited for the clerk to find his paycheck. She eventually did, and we were both a lot more satisfied than when we had arrived. Before we split to get living our regular lives again, I asked him if I could get his picture for the blog. He graciously agreed...

Jared Pendelton - Future Empire Builder

I was hungry, but it wasn't too bad. The mind rationalizations can settle in for the long haul, producing a kind of patience that is not well-understood to me, if it has been trained to do so enough times. I knew I would have some kind of blog contribution soon. That's the way it had been since last October, whenever the pickings got slim. I consoled myself with that thought, as I traveled back down State Street, stopping at a place I'd seen before but had not investigated. I have absolutely no idea what it's significance is to the town of Salem. And, truth be told, there really wasn't much to see on its little garden paths, beside the incredible architecture of the house... 

Tent set up for a "garden party" later that day.

My only other task before heading out of town was to charge the laptop at the library and make the day's blog post. When I got there, the thought of going on with no prospect of having money for a few days, caused me to do my least favorite of all things in my life right now: "Beg" for donations. I tried the soft approach for a few days in a row, with no response. That is usually the way it goes. Then, once that bug is in people's eyes, I can ask more directly. It is always the same pattern.

The only thing that really bothers me, especially as the months roll on, is that it is the same people, giving and giving and giving. They know who they are. Obviously, they are incredibly devoted to this project. They are silent about their giving, publicly. And, every single time they contribute, I wish so much that I would be able to thank them, publicly. But it just won't work, and they don't want that. I guess that is another way that I see them as probably the most noble and faithful people, that I have ever had the dear privilege of knowing. Someday when all of this is either in the history books or thrown in the fire of obscurity I WILL find a way to acknowledge them individually--mark those words.

By the time I finished the post and was getting ready to leave for the next part of the journey, I received two donations--from longtime donors who have made my mission part of their own. If I had one single wish for all of this stuff that I seem to be compelled to do, it would be that these folks (all of them) be relieved of the financial part of it. I tried by setting up some merchandising. I tried by floating the idea (many times, actually) of selling small or big business advertising at the blog. But, no hook in the water of ideas has snagged participation in these things. I am a living testament to a rule I discovered long ago: The owner of a concept is always its least effective promoter. Projects also need non-financial support (in this case, contacting media outlets, sharing posts, doing word-of-mouth work, etc.). The world needs to see the screaming fans in the front row--as it were. Just SEE them, and be intrigued. And, nothing but shear good fortune can make that happen. If it fails to occur, the project is historically doomed.

I still have an incredible amount of faith in this work. I have faith in myself. I absolutely KNOW that I will complete the journey. My will is even stronger than my body (as I would rediscover later in the day), to support it. There is no one to blame - if this all fades away - besides myself. The uncomfortable thing is that I feel I've tried every possible angle. Now it is in the hands of the Universe to make it a phenom. All I can do is follow the Spark, and rely on it to either make that happen, or not.

I fantasize (and that's all it is) about NPR, This American Life, TLC or the Travel Channel contacting me, giving me a small paycheck each week (I only need about $150/week, for Pete sake!) and a really professional video camera. And, by God, I WOULD produce (I think I've proven that I can). It would be cool to have an episode broadcast each day. Also, the constant uncertainty about food, supply problems and long delays would no longer be an issue. I could just do my work--even more so. Anyway, I'll let that idea fade away into cyberspace for now. The REAL world is not based on fantasy... I mention all of this, because it is on my mind at all times, day and night.

I packed up my stuff, and before closing the laptop, I saw that two brand new people had shared the post I'd just made. This made me smile. It was a big smile. You just never know.

The walk north through the only part of Salem I'd not yet been to was interesting for sure. First I past by the art museum and took the pictures I'd wanted to for the last week; the six sculptures in their courtyard...

Glad to know they recovered my breast plate and wings, after I was cast out of heaven.

Here is a sculpture - "Time Wave Zero" - named after something that only people in the

psychedelic community might appreciate. I had to chuckle. Terence McKenna would be very proud. 

The streets came and went, as they always do, also with all of the neat new features I've learned to expect on a brand new walk...

Before I knew it, nearly all (and I mean about 90%) of the business signs changed to Español. This was essentially "Little Mexico". [It would remain like that all the way to the place (Woodburn) from where I write this now.]

Within about four miles, I felt what seemed like rough sand under the front of my feet. It became so prominent and uncomfortable that I had to stop and take off my boots to see if I could dump out whatever it was. When I'd removed the boots and saw nothing. The insoles were perfectly smooth. I then checked out the bottom of my feet and found that two holes had worn their way through each sock, and the edges of them were fraying, then turning inward to make a rough surface. In addition to this, the holes were allowing the insoles to make direct contact with my bare feet, pressing on the skin while also moving it from side to side--separating it from my feet. That, my friends, is what as known in my book, as a "blister generator". I glimpsed the tell-tale, whitening signs that the little bastards had begun to develop. Since I couldn't yet find where their centers would be, lancing or cutting them open would be stupid.

At this point I had no choice but to keep going. Any store (including pharmacies) who sold socks were well past me and back in Salem. So... I switched over to drifting mode--the state of mind I enter when an uncomfortable walking situation becomes almost unbearable, but stopping is not an option. It is very much like a "happy place", except that it is mostly centered around the playing out of old memories.

While my mind was drifting, I kept a keen eye on the roadside for little objects and things that might be interesting to either photograph or write about. Because I'd been so focused on the ground, I saw a small white ball. I stopped and picked it up. It was a tiny onion. Then I looked up to see maybe 30 acres of onion fields...

The edge of a vast ocean of onions plants.

I was quite surprised when sniffing the air, that there wasn't even the hint of an onion smell. Strange... Gritting my teeth, I started up the long march again. Slowly at first, I stepped flat down on my feet, so that the rubbing wouldn't be as bad. Unfortunately, this caused my heels and the balls of my feet to cramp and get sore. Blisters are a burning pain, but the other pain was an ache. Each got worse as I hiked along. It got to the point where I was getting used to the pain (that is what endorphins do, by the way). And, not wasting the opportunity to move faster, while factoring in the certainty that this action would only exacerbate the final result, I did walk faster.

I needed to get close to Gervais, so that I could time finding my sleeping spot with the sunset, and also allow me - because I knew that the next morning I would be paying a terrible price for what I was doing right then to my feet - to get into a civilized area and treat my feet. I also needed to pee. Even with the pain, I couldn't resist taking shots of interesting things as they passed by.  

This is part of an immense wall of blackberries, about 30 feet high and 20 feet long.

I went by a beautifully landscaped garden center and saw their plant pot storage area at the edge of it. Man, what I would have done with those pots back in the day that I was growing rare plants for SoftAcres.

Killer sunset 1.

If there is a hell, maybe it is filled with people who have to pee,

and are subject to the teasing of a million locked up porta potties?

Killer sunset 2.

Killer sunset 3.

Hills in the east reflect the sunset in the west.

Now that the sun had gone down, I was pretty desperate to get off my feet. The toll taken on them for a measly 10 mile walk, irritated me; made me a bit angry at myself. It is always the one thing I don't think of preparing for, that pushes my face into the mud of pain and discomfort. Hindsight may be 20/20, but anticipating that one thing is one of my biggest blind spots.

I walked around a gradual corner and saw another green garden ocean; this time of squashes, on both sides of the road. It was not a welcome sight. I can't sleep in a squash field. The foot-ordeal was outrageous now. I HAD to stop. I endured the long, long trek passed these squashes...   

I don't really even like squash.

After what seemed like an endless squashy tour, I saw that the shoulder of the road on the right side dipped out of sight. Intrigued, I stumbled across to the other side and looked down at a soft field/tree farm of small Christmas trees and poplars, all in little rows, with spaces between them. That was it--that was the place to sleep.

I went up another 20 feet, until the ditch disappeared and I was able to venture in. I will ashamedly admit that there was a "No Trespassing" sign. I thought about moving on, but I just couldn't. When the traffic thinned, I made my move. Trying like a wounded animal to hide behind trees as cars went by, I tested different locations for a place where the ground wasn't too rough. I ended up laying the tarp and sleeping bag down among the very straight poplars.

I settled in and took off my left boot to view the damage. The sock needed to be peeled away. It wasn't good. The blister was about one inch wide, two inches long and a good quarter inch high. I grabbed the multitool, pulled open the knife and, without thinking about it too much, pierced the bubble of skin. I won't describe what I saw next, but I will say that it felt like a hot burner was set resting upon the sole of my foot. As much as it hurt, I knew that the pain would soon die down, and the foot would feel much better.

After that, I didn't really have the energy to do the other foot. When I went looking for my jacket in the backpack (which I'd been rolling up and using as a pillow), I realized that I'd left it at the Salem library! Shit!

I tried to sleep for a while with the sleeping bag itself at the head end, rolled up, but it kept unrolling. I needed a head support. So, I slipped my clean clothes bag out of the backpack and used that. It worked fine. It took a long time to fall asleep. But, it was pretty early when I laid down--about 9:30 pm. I was a bit unsure about the field still, and I think that's what I was stewing on, and preventing my sleep. At some point though, I did fall asleep, waking only once at 2:30 am to pee, then went back to "bed."

Gervais Sleeping Spot