Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 40 - Washington, MO - Ferguson after the Riots and the St. Louis Arch

My planning process is a serious "work in progress." If I were you I'd be frustrated as hell with me. I AM very sorry for not being reliable about it all.

Yesterday as I prepared to leave I told RhonnaLeigh that it was a shame that I hadn't gone to Ferguson to report. So, she suggested that we should. She was very convincing and - boom - we were in the car on our way up to St. Louis. It was AMAZING.

There were NO demonstrations or riots or anything like that. It was all clean-up and healing. But the coolest thing of all was meeting a very energetic guy named Lou Bailey, originally from Damariscotta, Maine, who had been living Ferguson for over a year (had married a Missourian and had lived in the state for a few years).

After the riots had smashed and burned out most of the businesses along New Florissant Road in the heart of Ferguson, these great people of all colors and genders came out, boarded up the windows so the business owners could get back to work, primed the wood with paint and then got busy painting positive messages.

When we walked down that road there was a feeling of "after the storm." Everyone was calm and people spoke very gently to each other. The support and love of neighbors who genuinely cared about their city and each other was thick and sweet in the air.

Destroyed Little Caesars

and Painting Plywood Store Fronts

It was amazing though, driving around town, especially down King's Highway and seeing the terrible destruction. Both the senseless ruin of it all, mixed with the feeling that the unbearable tension had to have SOME kind of means of expression, brought home the idea that there might not be "answers, only solutions" [John Lennon].

My sense was that nearly everyone was united against the overbearing presence of the armed vehicles, hummers and heavy guns. Lou said that when he and the neighbors had ventured up to King's Highway with paint, brooms and trashcans in hand to begin cleaning up, the police were very aggressive about turning them away. So he and the neighbors moved on from place to place, tirelessly attempting to sweep up glass, pull wood out of the way, and board up windows. They were SO persistent that the police caved and they were finally given unrestricted access to these destroyed structures.

There is still a 5:00 pm curfew in place there on specific streets. We happened to be there just in time to see the full impact. It was like a war zone or a natural disaster--but there was nothing "natural" at all.

Needless to say, I didn't leave yesterday. We went to "Queen's Chop Suey" - a Chinese Restaurant next to the buildings that Lou was painting at, and remarkably untouched by the chaos - for a couple of soups. I've attached a screen shot of the area. "Queen's" is right in the center of the hard-hit area of that part of town.

It was a busy day for us! The weather was beautiful (66 F), and sunny, nearing the end of the day. So on the way back to Washington we stopped by the great St. Louis Arch.

RhonnaLeigh even treated me to a ride up to the top! SO DAMN COOL folks! If you ever come to St. Louis, please don't miss this opportunity.

By the time we got the top of the arch the night was dark and the lights of the city were cast out across the landscape like an organized starfield. Quite an experience for sure!

So even though I was delayed from leaving, the trip yesterday was very well-worth it. I may even stay the night tonight, because I have so much to post and work to do online. We'll see. And I'll keep you posted.

Love to All!

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 36 - Washington, MO - Touching Base

The Author with New Specs on the Day this was Written

Sorry I have been so silent the last few days. RhonnaLeigh doesn't have internet and we have been doing some traveling around the state.

Not much to report on the adventure aspect, since this has been a bit of a vacation. I will say that MO is a gorgeous state, and I have a real and lasting appreciation for the land. It is VAST for a Mainer like me. Beautiful rolling hills, Mennonite carriages, thousands upon thousands of dairy, beef, pig and turkey farms.

I visited RhonnaLeigh's tract of land yesterday in Western MO (23 acres) and have been hugely inspired by its woods, fields and small stream, to get myself a piece of land in Maine. The afternoon sun - even with a chill in the air - was golden and lit up the grasses and tree trunks, making it almost look like late summer.

RhonnaLeigh's Homsteading Land

The grass stays green here, and flowers don't die like they do in Maine over the winter. Yes there is occasional snow and the temps dip below freezing every now and then at night, but it is a kind of "refrigerator" more than a "freezer."

The people of the Midwest are polite even when they don't want to be, and my Maine tendency to be direct must be muffled a bit. Nothing is said directly here. That behavior is nice but a bit fluffy for a battle-hardened Yankee.

It is the eve of the second half of the land voyage, and I'm feeling both ready to go and sad to be leaving my friend. Tomorrow I head back out for an entirely new experience for me...the Southwest journey.

Up until this time I have dealt with environments that I'm used to. But soon comes the desert. Traveling in any way besides walking occasionally simply wouldn't give the experience I have sought. Yes, there will be trains and buses, maybe the odd ride from a stranger or friend, but I aim to be part of the environment, just as I was in New England--at least for as long as I can endure it. My next visit with a friend (overnight, etc.) with be in Ramah, NM.

The updated plan for this next leg of the sojourn will be a southward trek into Arkansas, then westward into Texas (across the top of the state), then New Mexico.

I have carefully considered different routes of getting there, and was not enthusiast about marching across Kansas, nor Oklahoma--though it would have brought me nearer to Colorado which, for a person of my 420 inclinations, might have been a historic kind visit. But, no, I'll have to wait and hit those far Northwestern states sometime in the next few months after California is achieved to see the new culture that will eventually be national.

Honestly, I am feeling slightly anxious about stepping off the metaphorical cliff again, especially after being so spoiled by RhonnaLeigh. There have been delicious meals, spirited discussions, a healthy amount of beer, wines, some martinis and my new favorite: cachaça (a Brazilian kind of whiskey-esque liquor).

I was afraid that this good living might soften me, making the harshness of what I'm about to face all the more difficult. But I am instead looking forward to the challenge of readjusting to the roadside. It is more the domestic comfort-draw of "normal" living (in a house, with a bed, good meals and intelligent conversation) that my ID (in the Freudian sense) that doesn't want me to leave. But I know I must be moving on... So it is what is...

I've missed communing with you all and I've missed the feeling of not knowing what's around the next corner. I also feel a bit guilty for not "being about my business." This journey is my JOB. It is not meant for enjoying large periods of pleasure and relaxation.

I must EARN more, and only adventure and writing about it, not to mention catching up with the growing deficit of time that is developing since my New England activities that bothers my sensibilities. I will catch it (the writing) up at some point.

I have much to say about the current events in this state (Ferguson-wise), though they haven't touched me personally in the little town (Washington) where I currently am. IT is a sheltered place of quiet streets and local high school marching band practices, not racial strife and political unrest.

So, anyway, I thank you guys for your patience. And, if you are beginning to lose that patience, I ask that you hold on for just a couple more days until the beauty of the chaos returns and we can all "click, click, click...scrape" along together, deeper into the Our America.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Day 29 - Bridgeville, PA to Chicago, IL

Spent the night at the Knight's Inn in Bridgeville again. Temperature was 17 F last night. Got some writing done, did a tub laundry.

On this day I took a bus from here in Bridgeville to the Pittsburgh Amtrak Station, then an Amtrak train overnight to Chicago from there. On the next day I would then take another train to St. Louis. Here is the trip from Bridgeville to Pittsburgh and exploring the three river section of the city...

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Drifting

[The following is a short supplemental post. It is important in that it grabs a feeling out of the aether that I have grown to appreciate. My only hope is that you may also find something in it for yourself.]

I had mentioned some posts back about a certain phenomenon that occurs during the most physically challenging moments of my walks and hikes: Drifting.

I take the term from the film Lawrence of Arabia. Specifically, I am referring to the scene at 01:04:42,087, when upon crossing the Nefud desert, Sharif Ali (played by Omar Sharif) wacks Lawrence (played by Peter O'Toole) with his stick, because he sees that Lawrence is spaced out and has a faraway look in his eyes. Here's the exchange...

Ali: [Wack!] 

Lawrence: I was thinking. 

Ali: You were drifting. 

Lawrence: Yes. It will not happen again. 

Ali: Be warned. You were drifting. 

Lawrence: It will not happen again.

Because it will be referenced in the next regular post, I'd like to make this supplemental post to go into deeper detail about what is happening during these "episodes." Granted I don't know exactly what is happening, but I have been examining them while they occur--if I can focus long enough.

When mile after mile has passed under foot and the goal is always moved further down the field, the mind wanders. Hills come and, like a beautiful woman, they play hard to get. They tease while you climb up them, thinking the summit is just around the bend, and then they head upwards again.

After these miles have stretched me to nearly the breaking point, my body begins to tell my mind that it is OK to go away for a short period of time. At such times, I use the walking stick, not as a crutch but as an indicator of whether I am about to collapse. There is the click...click...click...click...scrape! Oops. Click...click...click...scrape. Too many scrapes and it is time to rest whether there is a place or not to do so.

As when I was having my heart attack in 2006, little nursery rhymes start to enter my mind. They are just simple songs, whispers from a time before I had to care about this world.

"Down by the station early in the morning..." click...click...click...

My eyes blur and I simply look at certain blades of grass, or pebbles that appear to be like man made objects, then morph back to nature's sculptures.

I can tell that I'm losing moisture quickly by how frequently the sweat fills my Maine cap, then works its way to the visor, dripping off the front of it. Drip...drip..drip..click..click...

If this goes on long enough I begin to completely recede into myself. I see days gone by; regrets; triumphs; faces of those I love, or loved...

Times out on Domillo's Floating Restaurant in Portland, Maine often come to me. Sunday morning brunches with friends, now distant, maybe even gone forever.

I see myself as a child, riding in front of my father who's arms are around me as we skirt through the frozen snowmobile paths around the Bayview Street peninsula, the light from the machine pouring out over the trail; the only illumination for miles around, with the stars in full color poking through the purple night like needles.

I see myself and my childhood friends gathering change to bring down to Frosty's, a local penny candy store and gas station at the head of Bayview Street. Fifty cents could buy me an afternoon's worth of candy.

My first kiss... My first drive alone in a car... The grandeur of teenage love... A night at Cousin's Island Beach with my best friend, watching the remnants of a hurricane pass, with it's cloudy arms stretched out like the trails of a galaxy...

Click...scrape...

I'm not sure if the drifting is good or bad. It just IS.

I am a flawed soul. I am not the kind of person you might choose to deliver a message to the world. I think - as I drift - why would anyone care?

At some point there is a sense that I must either stop and rest (which means it will be ten times harder to start again), or I should bite my lip and shake my head, wipe the sweat and forge forward like a soldier on a forced march; like a prisoner who will be shot if he stumbles.

So far I have been lucid enough to choose the latter and come back to reality.

But nothing precludes any other alternative.

There is a moment when all of us must decide upon such things. It doesn't have to be while wallking. Our destinies are indeed in our own hands. The human will can bring you as far as the human body will allow, then... Then... it is up to greater forces than ourselves to continue.

I fight for my destiny, like I would fight to save a friend from drowning. I rest in peace, like I would rest if I knew the end was inevitable. I LIVE (now) as though these two things were married to each other, and attached to me like an extra limb.

It is THIS moment that counts. Let other things try to deceive you into believing that the future is the goal, or that the past is a golden age. THIS is the TIME. THIS is the PLACE. Where you are at this particular moment in time IS ALL that exists.

If I had never been drifting, I would have never known this Truth, experientially. It is just another in the unfathomable number of experiences I have come to gather like precious gems strewn along the dirty roadsides of America. Beauty IS. Truth FLOWS. Goodness ACTS.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Day 27 - Bridgeville, PA - Billy Hayes

I woke about 30 seconds before my watch alarm sounded. The sides of the tarp-tent had become saturated and were sagging in. Because they touched the sleeping bag, its entire outside was soaked. Amazingly though, the inside was not. There was still a light tapping of rain on the outside. This meant I would - again - have to put everything away, wet.

My only hope was that I could get a room on this coming night. As I mentioned in the last post, it was to be well below freezing by them. Not to be overly dramatic, but it was kind of a life and death situation. When it comes to life and death (maybe because of my former life) I wouldn't even think of looking for a shelter. Frankly, I'd just rather die of exposure. It would make so many more points.

Whatever. I slithered out of the tarp-tent and disattached the lines from the trees. In the light rain, I folded it all up, after stowing my wet sleeping bag and trying to keep the contents of the pack as dry as possible.

In the dark I threw the pack over my back and stumbled down the cemetery paths to Washington Pike, where I snuck back out and up toward McDonald's. I had no money, but if I was able to get online I should be able to see that funds had transferred to my business savings. Then I could finally have some money to make decisions with.

I entered the McDonald's and went straight to the side area where I wouldn't be obvious. Then I pulled out the laptop from its plastic bag and got online. There was nothing transferred through. I guessed it was just too early. I was sitting there. With a 50 pound pack next to me, wet, a laptop that barely worked, looking for funds that might or might not show up, I felt exactly like second hand trash. 

Nothing that I'd done in the last month should have worked. And, knowing that, nothing I was doing now should work either. There was no reason at all why it would. In a purely mechanical, humanistic, materialistic universe of pure chance and cold happenstance, my laptop should have failed. The restaurant should have kicked me out, the funds should have been delayed even longer, the temperature should have plummeted beyond what a human could endure.

I was sweating now, not because I was hot, or had the cold sweats, but simply because I was uncomfortable, embarrassed, trying to hide, anxious about everything, had uncontrolled high blood pressure, was becoming steadily less confident about myself, this stupid journey, and the universe in general.

Then it happened. At 8:30 am, suddenly my savings account jumped from $21.70 to $128.70! I almost slid out of my seat. I'd slept in two cemeteries, eaten one meal in the last 48 hours, risked being thrown out of McDonald's, and probably taken 10 years off my own life with anxiety. And now? I had something to work with. I have to say though, that, in the back of my mind, I wondered: was this the reason to live? A hundred dollars? What kind of lowest denominator was life based around, where starving, sleeping in the rain, being at risk of social ostracization at every moment made this sudden fortune worth all of my 46 years?

I left and went to the Irving Station where I withdrew $120. It was kind of like a general store, having everything one might need in between these far flung Pennsylvania towns. My soaked feet had dissolved the gel insoles I'd bought weeks ago. I found a new pair for a reasonable price and bought them. Then, I immediately returned to the McDonald's, bought a coffee, and settled back at my table. 

Philosophy might be useful in some circumstances, but at this point, I just wanted to keep pushing forward. I set about searching for a motel room that would be supercheap and nearby. And, I got online to thank those who had donated enough to pull me out of the pit.

As I worked away on it all, and the grey sky turned slightly lighter, and the rain stopped as the temperature fell a guy walking into McDonald's and paced back and forth. He looked desperate for something. I tried to keep a low profile, in my social anxiety, hoping he wouldn't talk to me.

I checked on a motel room for this night. Then a new  'plan' (ha!!) developed. I could take a bus into Pittsburgh, not the next day but the day after, shooting for a late night (11:59 pm - 8:45 am, a 9:46 hour trip) Amtrak to Chicago. Then I could head to St. Louis, MO, and on to Washington to meet my friend, RhonnaLeigh.

I thought about the last night. It wasn't too bad. As far as helping with temperature, the tent really did wonders. It had to have been a good ten degrees warmer in there than outside; something I will definitely remember for camping in the snow (as long as there is no rain involved).

The guy who'd walked in earlier seemed frantic now. He walked up and asked me if I had a cellphone. I didn't (probably the only man in a hundred mile radius who had no phone), What I did have was Google Voice. It is a way to call through my Gmail account anywhere in the country for free. It was never the best reception and frequently cut off, losing the signal and needing to be rebooted. But in emergency situations it did work. I offered that, as I had nothing else to offer. And, we got to talking...

Billy Hayes - Boilermaker

He was a 32 year old guy named after the Billy Hayes character from Midnight Express. He had been sleeping in his truck the last few nights. He is a professional Boilermaker (metal fabricator).

We hit it off immediately. I noticed he was very wise for his age and highly intelligent. He had been through an awful lot and we shared the same kind of philosophies (and other interests).

His phone was out of minutes and he was stuck with no money to refill it. So I let him use Google Voice to contact a family member for help later on this day,

I had a feeling he and I were going to be good buds someday. He inherited land in West Virginia (where he grew up) and at some point I'd like to visit him if he ends up down there again. He has similar aspirations of building a self-sustaining cabin.

I realized, vaguely, that there are Reasons why I am out here, now, in this place (insert wherever I am into that statement). We did not meet by coincidence--we both knew that for sure.

The trenches were muddy and wet. The trees were bare and stripped of their beauty. The sky was gray and filled with the tears of angels from a child's fairy tale. What do they cry for? I think they cry for us humans; maybe because we have not yet fully realized how deeply we have fallen from our own highest standards.

To sleep in that mud, below those trees, under the gentle tears of children's angels is the most alive I have ever been. There was nothing comfortable on the outside now for me.

But inside myself is a Springtime of promise, welcoming me to a place where the Light is so intense it casts no shadows. It pounds against the darkness of the doors we have sealed shut. It pounds and pounds. It fills every nook--every hole on its side, trying to pass through to the darkness.

NOW is the time when little cracks are finally starting to make their way through that rotten wood. They are beginning to fall upon the others who look upward and inward, despite the struggle and pain of human existence. The people who share the bottom of the world with me, because they have nothing else to share, seem to be the first ones to glimpse this Light. So strange, isn't it?

I believe (and I don't expect anyone else to if they are too busy) that it is the low in stature, the ones clothed in only skin and bone, the ones who never feel comfort, that will be emboldened, strengthened, fed, clothed, comforted, FIRST.

And, with that, the formerly sealed doors will burst open and we will ALL have the answer to creating a future that - as yet - is not available to us in this current state.

WE must solve our problems. No one will do it for us. But as I had been learning to partner with the Spark, and thus, finding peace of mind, so shall we as a race find our Real selves. Many are doing this at the same time I am, in some way or another.

If you want to, stop for a moment today, close your eyes and simply clear your mind of outside concerns for just one minute. In that silent, churning, brownness behind closed lids, is the door. I think you will know what I mean when you imagine it. What you do with that knowledge is up to you. Every one of us deserves the dignity of using our own varied and separate belief systems and worldviews to decide upon an action. I can't suggest an approach. I am only here to report on the bottom.

I will tell you that *I* have chosen to find a way to open it all up for myself, personally.

Now I ask you to simply follow my adventures through it. See what happens. That is perfectly safe for you; as it should be. When I am done reporting what I find (with you along for the wallk) and the project is complete, something wonderful is going to descend upon us all. I really don't know what that thing will be. But I DO KNOW it will happen. I am out here willing to stake my very life on it.

I guess I am in a serious mood. But my heart is filled with "the peace that passes all understanding." I don't like being uncomfortable all of the time or beholden to others for all I am doing...not at all. It makes my habit-filled mind feel guilty. But I can't stop what I'm doing now. The thought never crosses my mind anymore to stop. I got the feeling Billy felt this way too.

For me, getting to Missouri would be a major step toward the Southwest. I feel that, with my faster travels through to Chicago, my work in the East will have been completed.

I meditated for a long time the night before upon whether I have done enough - experienced enough - as the life of a homeless person. I am willing to go on in this way here in the eastern half of the nation, until I reach the western half of the nation.

Then, after this closed-eye contemplation, I stopped and simply quieted myself. I very distinctly knew after a few moments that it is not my job to be an ascetic, for the simple sake of suffering, enduring the experience (remembering that last night was another test of endurance). It is time to go west. The snapshot provided by the people I've met; the friends I've made, and the discoveries I've experienced, must be satiating whomever or whatever was wallking beside me--unseen.

I say all of this personal stuff only as a comment on my own state of mind, not as a thing that anyone else should believe. I just think it is historically important to me to be honest about what is driving me.

Billy got through to his mother, whom he planned to catch up with in Ohio. We had a complete and meaningful goodbye. He left and ventured on.

I - for the first time - reserved a room. it was to be at the Knights Inn, just down the street. When I felt as though I had used up every last second of McDonald's I headed across the road and over the Knight's Inn. The Indian gentleman at the desk had no qualms about taking cash. And, my now-quite expired Maine ID didn't even raise his eyebrow.

I paid, and carried my precious key card to the outside door of my room. Inserting it and then entering, I felt almost lightheaded by the good fortune of being able to rest like a human being again. It had only been a couple days since my last room, but if felt like a month.

Once I could take off my backpack and just rest for a moment, I made a mental note about what I could get to eat that night, then headed back out to the same Irving to buy some dinner. when I returned, I was set for the night...

Changing out my insoles.

That light spot in the heal of my right boot is a piece of gravel.

The boots were wearing away.

The dinner of princes...okay, maybe more like paupers.

My cocktail for the night.

At least I have style!

When my food was gone, and I'd worked online for a while longer, sleep began to overtake me. My eyelids grew quite heavy. I shut off all the lights and got undressed. For the heck of it, I went to the door to see what it was like outside. when I opened the door a super-frigid breeze blew in. somehow the universe had conspired to keep me out of the freeze on this night. All I could do was close the door, walk to the bed and turn in under the covers. I closed my eyes and gave thanks for all that had kept me alive. Then I fell asleep.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Day 26 - Crafton, PA to Bridgeville, PA - Knots and More Cemetery Accomodations

I slept like the dead (sorry, I had to say it), until I heard stomping right next to me. I rolled over to see a six point buck. He started barking at me. I couldn't believe how loud it was. Scared the shit out me. I looked around and noticed something I hadn't seen when bedding down. I was sleeping right in the middle of a deer trail, not a human trail. I was afraid he'd attract people to the area, so tried to shoo him off, thinking he'd just run away. Not a chance.

He stepped closer, calling my bluff. I was like, "Okay, big boy, maybe we can talk this over..." He was having none of it, and lowered his head. I stood up slowly and grabbed all my stuff, crumpled up the tarp and slunk backwards a little way into the woods. Wasn't good enough. He stomped and stepped forward again. That was it, man! With my pack half on, and the tarp under my arm, I slowly retreated out to the roadside, where I got my shit together and continued on my walk. Looking back, I noticed that he was sniffing the ground where I had been. Lesson from that day: Respect the strength and resolve of deer.

The temperature was about 33 degrees F when I was rudely awoken, but I had been cozy and warm until then in my sleeping bag. This coming night would be similar, but a bit colder and I thought it might be due to rain.

I knew it would be a rough day. I had $3 in my wallet. No contribution money had come into my savings account yet from PayPal (I was waiting for over $100), due to it being a Sunday. Interestingly, I had $21.70 in that account, but ATM fees here were $2.50-$4.00!, so no dice there. I had tried to get a Visa/MasterCard debit card through PayPal so that I could withdraw money directly without transferring to my business savings, but they turned me down.

The first thing I needed was something to drink. I walked to a CVS. unfortunately it didn't open until 8:00 am. I thought they might also have a less expensive ATM machine. Standing around and just sitting in the parking lot for a couple of hours, I tried to get online by piggybacking on several signals. I had no idea where I was. If I could have looked at Google Maps I would have been able to chart my way westward. I still had the impression that if I could get a bit more money, maybe I could take a bus across the border and through Ohio. It was only about 15 miles to the border.

Nothing worked about trying to get online, so I called it quits and stowed the laptop away before it ran out of power. Then I just sat, bored. No one was a round. The place gave the impression of a post Zombie apocalypse. I nodded a bit, still tired. I probably would have slept a bit longer if that deer hadn't bullied me out of the cemetery. I must have drifted to sleep for a while, because the next thing I heard was a car door slamming. It was the CVS worker arriving to open up the store. she was very late. It was about 8:20 am. I pulled my shit together and tried and assumingly as possible to join her in the doorway. I didn't want to scare her with my odd appearance.

Thankfully she was a very nice lady. She apologized for being late. She'd got a call to come in on her day off when another employee had called in sick. She said he was probably hung over. I bought a large lemonade. This left me about $1. They did have an ATM but it charged $3. My money was tantalizingly near, but ever out of reach. If I hadn't been so used to being disappointed with my financial situation, I think I would have gotten quite depressed. But, I kept a stiff upper lip. I asked the lady if there was a McDonald's anywhere around. she laughed heartily and said that this CVS was the only store in town. I asked if she was serious. She nodded, "You have to go Bridgeville if you want any other amenities." I asked how far away Bridgeville was and of course she told me in driving time, "...oh, a little less than 10 minutes." I did the math. That was about 5 miles.

Asking for basic directions, I was told that the important thing was to find Route 50, then follow it south through Carnegie and Heidelberg until I run into Bridgeville. I thanked her and headed off. I had to retrace some of my steps from the night before, skirting around the bus route this time, until I hit the intersection with Route 50.

I finally made it to the McDonald's in Bridgeville. The walk was unspectacular. It was dreary and drizzly. With my last $1 I bought a coffee and sipped it for hours while I worked online. The frustration of having no resources was getting to me. I searched Google Earth for anything resembling a sleep spot. Everything outside was wet. I actually found myself wishing it would just snow instead of rain. I wasn't going to get a break. And, I was slowly wearing out my welcome at McDonald's. A businessman with a suit and tie nursing a coffee all day is not a problem. But a strange unshaved traveler, hauling around 8 tons of shit was just kind of an eye sore. I knew it and they were patient with me.

What really began to concern me was that the night after this one was going to be brutally cold, at 15 degrees F. Can't sleep outside in that without some kind of real tent. And, the night after was going to be nearly as cold.

There was a system that people were calling the Polar Vortex here at the end of the year. I had been running just ahead of it, but now it was going to overtake me. It was really going to become a huge problem. I'd spoken about getting across Ohio and Indiana as soon as possible. But now, I realized the only way to Missouri was going to be heading north by train to Chicago and then down to St. Louis. Unbelievably, Amtrak has no direct western route from Pittsburgh, and the bus was too expensive to do. The judicious thing to do now was to stick just outside (within 15 miles) Pittsburgh in case I need to get back into the Amtrak station. I was still in the metropolitan area and there was a bus that ran into the city several times a day from Bridgeport.

Everything was twisting into knots. And, I wasn't particularly good with untying them. I'm a fairly good writer, an apt walker and a hardy camper (at this point)... But, an administrative assistant? I am not--at least not with everything else I have to deal with.

The stress was palpable and was causing my iritis to flare up a bit in my left eye. I was almost out of blood pressure medication and had no idea if my doctor was send a prescription this far out of state. I couldn't imagine what I would be experiencing with no metoprolol in situations like this. I had to break it all down to one thing at a time and just nibble a way that problems without trying to process all of them at once.

I decided then and there to definitely get an Amtrak from Pittsburgh to Chicago. Somehow spend the night there--maybe a day too if it was warm enough--there was one particular place that would be interesting to visit for me. Then, take a train to St. Louis, to meet up with my friend RhonnaLeigh in Missouri and stay with her for a few days, OR take a tangent trip to Minnesota to meet up another friend. I didn't even know if that was possible yet, but it would be the only chance on this journey that I would have to see her. I had a a standing invitation from her.

If I were to take the first option, there was a good chance the Polar Vortex would not reach me as I headed south down the west side of the Mississippi River.

Looking way ahead, after Missouri, I would be off to New Mexico somehow to visit another friend. But even though that would likely be less than a month from now, it might as well be a million years. The present moment is all I had time (or the psychological energy) to think about as the sun was going down. Ironically, I saw out the window that there really had been no sun on this day anyway. It was a raw, skim-milk sky as dark as 4:00 pm all day. And, now it was passing 4;00 pm--growing darker by the minute.

with all of this concern about taking other forms of transportation, staying in motels when the weather got dangerous, etc, I began to rethink the wallking paradigm I'd established. I thought about it like this...

Obviously taking trains and buses is not walking. But if it is indeed the JOURNEY and meeting the good people of the US along the way, that must be the mission. Then, any way of doing it is fair game. Even if the temp was adequate I can't see myself walking 500 miles across corn fields, dotted with tiny farms--that misses the point too.

I can't just rent motel rooms all the time. Hostels are a good idea, but that means getting to wherever they are (a few may work out). It just isn't practical walking 20 miles just to spend one night for $25. Shelters are a no-go. I'm philosophically opposed to taking a bed away from someone who can't help needing it. Also, those locations pose the same issue as the hostel thing.

One alternative if I have no money is to pretty much stay up all night if the temps are in the teens and do the doorway to doorway thing, getting booted by the cops. Faking that I need to use ATM's and hanging in those small areas as long as possible--until again getting booted or arrested. I don't exactly look like a Wall Street banker. To tell you the truth, if it came down to freezing to death or being arrested, I would use a night in jail as a way of surviving.

There is the option of staying with friends I know, if they happen to be nearby. But I'm not imposing any two hour drives on people, just to come back to the place where I was picked up. It is a waste for them and gets me nowhere besides out of the cold for 10 hours. There really wouldn't even be time for us to visit except during the car ride. The Protector did drive down when I was in Rhode Island, as you may recall, and took me to Connecticut. But that was a special situation and it set me up to be able to handle most of what I face out here.

So, maybe you are beginning to see some of the density of the knot I was trying to examine?

To keep things as logistically simple I am going to rely on trains and motel rooms for the next couple weeks, walking to where I need to use them, etc. Meeting people is no problem. I can't keep them off me, because of the gear and the story behind it. Sometimes it gets to be too much. This balancing act is rough, but it is part of the whole experience...THE journey.

The West Coast may be the destination and the mission may be the journey and its people. But the project seems to have become all of ours (the ones participating). It is a lesson in cooperation between friends: wise investments, efficient travel, safety in respect to the weather. We are ALL truly along for the ride now.

All of that is wonderful!

The only thing that I wish I had more of a chance to do was write. That is why the Facebook entries are becoming so important as a log. When I really do get an opportunity to get more blog posts up, I will feel better about keeping up my part of the bargain and add to future book material.

Trains could help feed several birds with one seed (as my sister Deb says). These long runs often go over night. That means time to write at stations and on the train; plus, no motel stay required. Of course the time going west is shortened as well.

The train trip the day before was supposed to be for writing, but very little got done due to Amtrak's sometimes spotty WiFi and some glitches that are growing in my laptop, along with planning my route out of Pittsburgh which went off without a hitch (for once!). Plus, for much of the time I just wanted to ride and look out the window.

A big personal goal of mine is to see and experience the southwest, the desert especially and do some camping - or in my case, surviving - out there. So, the sooner I can get there, the better.

As for California. That's just going to be a great reward. I have plenty of friends out there and I plan to drink deeply of the spirit of the state, before going all the way to Oregon and Washington and then returning, probably by plane (something I have to start saving for, in escrow) to my beloved Maine and my cat, Buddy, to begin a new life.

If the Great Spirit wills it, maybe I will have been able to set up a way of building my self-sustaining property and get to work devoting the rest of my life making a material difference in the lives of people who really need it by coming up with some kind of inexpensive low income housing, like I was planning to do before having to leave Maine.

But that whole pipe dream in the last few paragraphs was a distant and still-fictional time in the future. On this night it was back to survival mode. And who knew what the hell would happen tomorrow, and in the next few days and weeks?

The best place to spend the night appeared to be the town cemetery; the second one in as many days. I left McDonald's, broke and uncertain, but trying to force all the other issues out of my head, to just focus on the task at hand. It was a short walk further down Route 50, where I took a left on Washington Pike, then after making sure no one was looking, I snuck through a gap in the cemetery gate and up the hill to explore.

Near the southern edge there was a drop off. But a flat spot just behind several large tombstones looked like it would fit the bill. The Spark seemed to agree. now, with a light rain starting up again, I tied one end of the tarp to a tree, and for the first time had something more like a classic tent to climb into.

I had left the head end lose so that I could pull the edges in and close it completely. The foot end was tied with a bungee cord, tightly and secured with another line to a tree adjacent to the first tree. With my light, I checked for leaks. It appeared that the angles were just right. I was worried about condensation building up, but what else could I do? I needed to stay dry as long as possible. Keeping the rain out was the way to do that, even at the expense of waking in the morning with the "rain" of condensation coming in. I wrapped the laptop in a dry plastic bag and pushed it under my raincoat for extra protection. Then I was able to roll out the sleeping bag, take of my pants and climb in. It was warm and dry. Being in that sleeping bag was the highlight at the end of each of these stressful days. I fell asleep to the sound of an increasing downpour...

Bridgeville Sleeping Place.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Day 25 - Lancaster, PA to Crafton, PA - Train of Thoughts

I woke up excited to be moving on. I needed to get to the Lancaster train station and buy my ticket. But first I really wanted some breakfast. This day's Inn had a continental breakfast. I went to the dining room and was quite happy to see they actually had eggs!

That's when I met Omy Garcia and Luz Perez--the kitchen staff. They were very friendly and when I complimented Luz on having "the best continental breakfast in the world!" she melted all over the place. I told them my story and took their pictures and info. They were all excited to meet someone crossing the country at the street level. Luz told me that she walks also; 40 minutes from home to the hotel and then 40 minutes home again after work each day, no matter what the weather is. She wrote down her number in case I ever needed anything if I visit Lancaster again, along with this message: "Glad to meet you. Days Inn Staff. Amen." Very sweet ladies who deserve the best. The rest of the staff there was kind as well...

Omy Garcia and Luz Perez.

Once I'd filled up on eggs, cereal, yogurt and anything else I could munch down, I said goodbye to my new friends. The day was cold, but not too bad as I crossed the city in search of the train station. I'd checked out the location at the hotel before heading out, and for once did not get lost along the way...

It wasn't very busy. I waited for a  little while at the window for the attendant to show up, but bought my ticket to Pittsburgh without much trouble...

The Amtrak Station in Lancaster, PA.

The train arrived at about noon. I boarded and had the pair of seats to myself. As soon as we were heading out of the station, I pulled out my laptop and got online. It felt like a good time to touch base with my friends on Facebook and I wrote the following...

I'm on the Amtrak to Pittsburgh from Lancaster. 

Two great days in Lancaster. Took a bath and two showers--ha! I'm a clean machine now. Did laundry in my bathtub (worked great! pics to follow). Bought a long sleeve T. Consolidated the pack even more, getting rid of some things. 

The incredible generosity of three donors who I wish I could thank by name publicly (but won't--hopefully someday I will get their permission) got me through what could have been a bad situation Thursday night. I cannot even come close to expressing just how much I adore these people--and all of you who have supported me and given me the confidence to continue on with this "whatever it is." 

The schedule I laid out a few posts back as a note to myself is pretty much right on track (ha! get it?). This will be a six hour trip across the Appalachian mountains. I will arrive in Pittsburgh sometime after 8:00 pm. LOTS of writing that I haven't gotten a chance to do should be in the works. 

I'm about to be done with 1/5 of the distance to the Golden State. What I have already experienced is nearly equal to all that I've seen and been to up to October 22 (when I left Portland, ME). I can't see around corners, but I can see both the coming shadows and the Light that casts them. They must always be partners in whatever destiny I'm wallking toward. 

Deb, made an astute observation early on, when she said (and I am paraphrasing) that my "mistakes" - getting lost and ending up in places I hadn't planned to visit (i.e. I never planned to go to Rhode Island, but it was one of the most rewarding experiences so far) - were like part of the higher plan; the part that is not of my original choosing. This was really confirmed for me here in PA. For example, going down the wrong road to sleep and then having to walk back to Gap two days ago allowed me to meet even more great people. 

Still, I admit that when I'm in those situations - in their midst - I have a difficult time seeing the good that will always result from the confusion of the moment. However, I am gaining a kind of forethought that is very slowly replacing the hindsight-realizations that it was always meant to be. I suspect that in the next few months this instinct will grow.

View from the train as we sped toward western PA.

I still get angry with myself. It would be humorous for you to be a fly on my back pack and see the typical reactions I have--the pattern of behavior I go through. There must be a list of stages some struggling grad student could manage to compile. In nearly every case I am put through an extreme, the very most that I can handle both psychologically and physically, THEN comes relief. 

This was not how things went for me before embarking on this adventure. Usually things just got worse and worse, with occasional points of positivity. Or, they simply stagnated. It is nice to now be relying on some other Force to keep the pluses and minuses canceling each other out. If I were bold enough I would say that the pluses actually are more dominant. Oh, to be bolder! 

I've received counsel about bypassing Ohio, and I'm seriously considering it. The view from Google Maps and Satellite is not encouraging. That same thing might be said for Indiana. So, if I have the ways and means, I may do exactly that (take a bus or train right across them). My main goal is to reach my friend RhonnaLeigh in Missouri, where I hope to spend a few days relaxing and talking with her, maybe doing some car touring.
So, that catches us up to the near-future plans. 

Love to ALL!

It was a long trip. I got quite a bit of writing done. I also transferred some pictures and video. Yet, for about half the trip I simply enjoyed looking out the window, watching the landscape go by until the sun went down, remembering all that I had been through already, and dreaming about all that I might yet face.

We we pulled into the Pittsburgh station I got that butterflies feeling I was getting used to now, whenever I was in a new place. It was night, and somehow I had to find my way across the city and to some less populated area where I could rough camp for the night. It was a good thing I got rest of the train (though I did not sleep), because I was about to face a long night.

The first thing I did was check my route while still at the station. It appeared that I would need to go south, across the Monongahela River, then northwestward up the riverbank along the South Shore until I reached where the Ohio and Allegheny Rivers met the Monongahela. Then, I needed to head sharply west through the West End of town, near Elliot, to only-God-knew-where.

Getting out of the center of the city was surprisingly simple, much easier than Boston, Providence, or Philadelphia. I needed to simply find Liberty Avenue which then turned into Grant Street south, negotiate the tangled roads near Penn Lincoln Parkway, and then get across the Smithfield Street Bridge. That all went very well and before too long I was walking on West Carson Street, along the South Shore...

 

Walking out of Pittsburgh, PA at night.
A look back across the rivers toward the highrises of downtown from West Carson Street.

I didn't know anything about this city. I'd grown up hearing about crime and poverty. But like the news from any American city, we usually only ever hear about things going wrong. I found this place to be quite benign. To my left (looking west) was a very steep hill that ran along the South Shore, abutting the Duquesne Heights neighborhood.

A very strange sight caught my attention as I peered up at the buildings far above me. It was a red line of lights that seemed to have an object - a cable car of some kind - moving slowly up them...

The Duquesne Incline.

I later learned that this odd structure was the Duquesne Incline. Here is some information about it from their official web site...

The Duquesne Incline

1197 WEST CARSON STREET

PITTSBURGH, PA. 15219

SINCE 1877

Wheelchair Accessibility at our Upper Station

Take a step back in time on a century-old cable car and see the best views of downtown Pittsburgh while riding one of the few remaining inclines in the country. Opened on May 20, 1877, the Duquesne Incline was rescued and restored by a group of local residents in 1963 and still delights residents and visitors with its original, elegant, wooden cable cars. Now you can visit the interior of the incline and watch the machinery while it operates. The Duquesne Incline's upper station houses a museum of Pittsburgh history, including photos and a storehouse of information on inclines from around the world. Unusual Pittsburgh souvenirs, maps and photos can be found at the gift shop.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Exact Fare\Change Machine 

The Duquesne Incline is part of the transportation system in Pittsburgh and therefore uses the same _CASH_ fare system as the buses and trolleys. A change machine is available for your convenience.  Having the exact fare in hand speeds up the payment process considerably.

Seniors, 65 and older ride free.

The Duquesne Incline is required to request either a Pennsylvania Senior Citizen ID card or Medicare card as proof of age, no exceptions, in order to be reimbursed by the Commonwealth of PA.

Sorry, no rest rooms.  A port-a-john is available outside of the lower station. The Duquesne Incline has been part of Pittsburgh's transportation system (not an amusement ride) since 1877 like a trolley or the cable cars of San Francisco.

Saturday's and Sunday's after noon are our busiest times.  Expect to wait in line for about 10 minutes in both directions.

Wheelchair accessibility is available at the upper station at 1220 Grandview Ave., Pittsburgh, 15211.  There are many steps to traverse from the lower station parking lot.

I also found out later that there is a second incline called the Monongahela Incline. I hadn't seen it, although it was right in front of me after crossing the Smithfield Street Bridge, because I had to take an immediate right onto West Carson Street and was too distracted by making sure I did that correctly.

Eventually, I made it to the confusing road system surrounding Steuben Street. I had no idea waht to do. But all of the roads basically ran parallel to each other. I tried to chose the least busy one--which was Steuben. But it was a winding road. Every time I checked out my compass, I was heading in a different direction. I didn't really care at that point as long as I was headed out of the densest parts of the metro area.

I ended up going about ten solid miles until I got to a strange little place called, Crafton. It was late and quite cold. I was soaked with sweat and really just wanted to find a spot to sleep. Nothing looked right. And, the Spark was not helping much, nor giving many hints. I took the lack of information as a sign that I hadn't gone far enough yet.

At some point I accidentally got on a "bus only" route, which is illegal (I discovered when I saw a sign forbidding pedestrians) to walk on. A few buses drove by and I got a strange feeling. I looked for a nest spot, and was investigating it (partway up a steep hill) when two police cars came slowly down the road with spotlights scanning the sides - I presume - looking for you know who. The buses must have radioed the police about my little jaunt.

I hid and camouflaged myself with my small blanket. I was shivering and had that "I'm in trouble now" feeling. I looked very carefully around me for an alternative way out of my predicament, but it just wasn't happening. The was a chainlink fence disallowing any way to get up the hill to the neighborhood I saw at the top. It really sucked. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do.

As an hour passed I timed out the buses. They ran at about 5-minute intervals, with no other cars--except possibly police. It came to the point where I simply had to take my chances of the bus route. There was no other alternative. At just the right time--immediately after a bus had gone by, I climbed down from the hill and jogged to the end of the busway. I could not believe that I made it, without being discovered. Just as I emerged next to a bus stop shelter, being gazed at suspiciously by the folks waiting there, the next bus pulled up. I did the math in my head. I'd run about 1,500 feet, complete with my 50-pound pack, holding my shortened walking stick, with vest pockets bouncing up and down.

Only a short way up a street I found a little nook beside an old overgrown and forgotten cemetery. It was fairly well sheltered from view. I wasn't entirely convinced that other bums like myself wouldn't try to sleep there. But, because of the low temperatures and late hour, I was pretty sure they wouldn't be there on that night. I laid out my little towel and sleeping bag, using the rolled up blanket for a pillow, like usual. I haven't really used it in the sleeping bag again (since way back in Connecticut). I fell asleep very quickly.

Crafton Sleeping Place.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Day 24 - Lancaster, PA - A Wallk Around Town

So nice to sleep in an actual bed. I know it seems romantic to be sleeping on the ground each day. But, essentially, that is what animals do. I am a human being and we humans have not evolved for a million years to be planted on the hard cold ground. I was however beginning to fully understand just how tough it was to live without a home. Being in a hotel made it all the more real.

The Protector had bought me two nights at this Days Inn. That meant I could leisurely explore the city on this day, and also prepare for a train ride from here to Pittsburg in the western part of the state. Before leaving to tour the town, I did a tub laundry--the first of many...

After hanging up the clothes to dry, I left to explore Lancaster. Besides getting some kind of idea about the layout of the town, I also had one particular mission in mind. I had t-shirts and winter coats, but no long sleeve shirts. I wanted at least one long sleeve shirt for times when it was too cold for a t-shirt but when my walking would not necessitate a winter coat.

In a rare confluence of beneficial circumstances, there was a Goodwill right across the road from the hotel! I poked around and found a blue Puma longsleeve shirt for $3.00! I bought is and put it on right away, so that I didn't need to where my heavier coats, then set out to explore the city.

Lancaster is a neat place. I thought it was a shame that I would not be able to experience any festivals or events featuring the "Dutch," Mennonites, or Amish folks. But, I still had a good time wandering around. As is my habit, I got lost a couple times. But, the grid-like layout of the area around my hotel meant that I was bound to run into a parallel or perpendicular streets that I recognized at some point. So I wasn't all that stressed out. Here are a couple of sites...

Emmanuel Lutheran Church.

I happened to be passing by just as the hour changed, bringing on a beautiful bell-chiming...

All around Pennsylvania were these sycamore trees. At first I thought they were some kind of birch. But, eventually I would truly get to know them, and would see just how large they would grow when I got to California... 

After losing and finding myself a few more times among the tightly spaced apartments and quaint businesses, I was able to find a McDonald's where I got online to check my location. I realized I was quite close to the straightaway that led to my hotel. I took it and was back at my room just as the sun went down. 

I knew this was to be my last night near the East Coast. On the morrow I would be going to the train station and buying an Amtrak ticket for Pittsburgh. I had originally planned to walk across the state, but that notion seemed ridiculous to me now. It would have taken at least three weeks and I would have spent most of my time in the wilderness, broke, unable to communicate with the outside world, and not able to meet new people.

I noticed my laundry was dry, so I folded it up and reorganized the pack for my Midwest leg of the Journey. Then it was just a matter of relaxing...   

 I turned in at about 11:00 pm and slept peacefully that night.

Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Day 23 - Gap, PA to Lancaster, PA - Ellie Chandler and a Mennonite Dude

When I woke up it was still dark out. I had slept through my watch alarm, and it was nearly 6:00 am. I hurried to pack up and climb down the hill to the road. I was happy that I'd gotten a couple miles further down the line and headed on, without much thought. 

Soon afterward though, the sun rose and I noticed it was in the wrong place. I'd become overconfident in my navigational skills, pulled out the walking stick, and checked the compass. I was going in the wrong direction. The sun should have been behind me, but instead it was on my left. It only took a couple more steps to fully realize that I'd made an error. When I'd left McDonald's the evening before, I went down the wrong road. I should have been on Route 30. But just up ahead I saw a sign saying I was on Route 41. Not good.

I had that little bead of sweat forming on my forehead, and my blood pressure increased. I hated screwing up especially after so many screw-ups before this. But, it was what it was. I turned around and headed back from whence I'd come...back to Gap.

When I got there I saw exactly what I'd done wrong. Good ole' Route 30 continued west, but I'd taken Route 41 south. I went back into the McDonald's I'd visited the day before and regrouped.

While I was working, I noticed that one of the employees was walking around talking to each table. She held a hot pot of coffee and offered a free refill to any party who might want one. I myself had a cup and eagerly accepted such a generous offer.

That's when she and I got to talking...

Ellie Chandler - Manager of Three McDonald's (at store 7213)

I learned that she was actually a manager of this store and two others in Pennsylvania. She had stopped by to make sure all was well. And she was not shy about telling her story...

A Scottish ex-pat--with an accent to match!, she moved to the US when she was only 17, and met her husband who courted her while he drove a cab. He was always making sure he would be the one to pick her up at her DJ job (which she still does for various radio shows).

After they got married, they had two sons. One was a veteran of Desert Storm and was wounded in an IED explosion, severely injuring his leg and the side of his body. Thankfully, he recovered and is doing well. She volunteered to go into the Veteran's hospital while he was there, entertaining the other injured men at the same time. I friended her on Facebook and we stayed in contact.

I guess I was procrastinating. The sky grew darker, and an internet weather agency predicted snow and sleet later that afternoon. Realizing that I still had a long way to go before I reached Lancaster, I packed up and prepared to leave. Ellie said goodbye and walked on to the next table, who was just as happy to make her acquaintance. And, I headed out into the gray afternoon.

That is when one of my hardest treks began. I continued down Route 30 toward Lancaster, walking faster and faster, as I tried to avoid the weather and perceived that it was changing and becoming more ominous.

About halfway between Gap and Lancaster - near a region called Paradise, ironically - the freezing rain began. I stopped and pulled out a trash bag to wrap the backpack in, while also donning my rain parka. The air was cold now - below freezing - and I put on the gloves that my Protector had given me a couple weeks before. Now it was a matter of simply walking forward through the coming storm.

And, I did. I passed by interesting, but vacant, farm stands, small pubs and a hundred little stone house-residences. It was well over ten long miles. And, just on the edge of Lancaster, having departed from Route 30, I reached a Burger King. My laptop was nearly out of battery power. And, as I looked outside, the sleet had turned to a full-fledged snow. Large clusters of flakes were covering everything in sight.

I was wet, sweaty, dangerously cold and tired. I contemplated what would be necessary for me to sleep outside. But, it didn't compute. In desperation, I sent a message out on Facebook for funds or a way to get a room for the night. Amazingly, two people offered to help at the same time

While I messaged back and forth, a group of Mennonites entered the Burger King, with men in their black coats, shirts buttoned to the chin, women in colonial-style dresses, and old men will long beards. They were quite jolly and seemed to be enjoying the snowfall. Each of them waited patiently to order at the counter. I found it strange under the florescent lights, and beside the ads for meal deals to see these folks ordering hamburgers and fries.

One of the teenage guys came back to the area where I'd set up my laptop. He sat right down next to me and we talked for a while. He was so cool! He was right up on everything trendy. He had a bit of a beard that wrapped around his chin, with no moustache--Lincoln-style. I couldn't help but ask him questions about his life style.

Did he have a chance to decide whether he wanted to join the modern, electrified, technological world? "Yes!" he said plainly. But the comfort and simplicity of his life with candles and horse-drawn buggies was so pure and simple... His way of speaking was a bit odd. There were no contractions, like "I'd"--it was "I would," etc. He was fascinated by pop culture, but he prefered his place just short of participating in it. I was amazed.

He chomped down on his Whopper Jr., enjoying every bite. For a moment, I sat watching him as he ate and smiled. What a neat life he had led! He'd had the choice to do anything he wanted. But, because he'd grown up knowing the peaceful ways of a non-technological world, he chose to immerse himself in that culture. He wasn't trapped there. No one held him against his will. He chose to follow his ancestors.

His uncle, or father, or whomever, wearing a short black hat, called him back over to the doorway to leave. The girls and women who were part of this group held their little brown paper Burger King bags beside them. They were pretty and filled with the joy of this strange excursion. Every person in this party seemed thrilled to be doing something different and at the same time proud.

What truly shocked me was that one of their elk actually worked at this Burger King. I was completely thrown off by this! He folded his Burger King shirt and joined his brethren at the door. When they were all assembled, they headed out into the snowy parking lot, where two horse drawn carriages awaited them.

The Spark let me see, in my mind, that they would all return to their houses. Once there, they would each go to their separate bedrooms or bed areas and disrobe for the night. Once under their downy quilts, they would slip into unconsciousness, happy, satisfied, safe and secure in the knowledge that they had the best of both worlds. They had the naturalness of their traditional lives and the option of enjoying the advantages of the space age culture around them. I thought, for a moment, just how well they must sleep...

For myself, time was growing short. The snow was piling up outside. One of the people who offered to help me buy a room prevailed. This same Protector reserved a room at a Day's Inn for two nights. I was drop-dead thankful. Had he not helped me, I would have to find a way to sleep on the wet snow. It was just another way that things seemed to work out at the last minute. But, I knew it wasn't luck. It was intention and attention from someone who cared that I was in trouble, and was willing to help me out.

I checked out the route to the hotel. It was a good three miles. Ugh! I didn't fancy walking that in a snow storm. Just then, another donation came in. I sighed, with a smile on my face. I left and walked to another restaurant. There, I ordered a Coke only and looked around online for a cab. In the gathering gloom of the outdoor weather, I located a cab company and set up a ride to the hotel. Within 10 minutes the cab arrived. I ran outside and threw my backpack in his back seat, Having already known where I was headed (the Day's Inn) he found the shortest way there--or so I supposed. I later learned that he'd taken a longer way there.

He was a cool guy though - the driver - and we talked about his business on the way to the hotel. When we arrived, he let me know it was about $15. I gave him $20 and he left satisfied.

When I went to check in I had no problem, except that they required a $50 deposit for cash stays--returnable upon checking out. My room had already been paid for by the Protector. Still, I had to set this money aside for it.

It was not a big deal. And, I received my key-card for the room. I have to say, checking into that room was one of the most satisfying times of my life. The Protector had gotten me my first room way back in Milford, Connecticut. Now, he'd set up in Lancaster for two whole days. What a feeling of relief! And, after a long shower, I settled into my bed. Sleep was immediate.