Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - 89 - Tucson, AZ - Tests of Darkness 2

The walk to town seemed longer than usual. I stopped in at McDonald's and bought a drink, but didn't have much to post so I just looked around Google for Tucson sites I hadn't seen yet. I saw the Botanical Gardens, and for some stupid reason I thought they'd be free. I also looked up the Ascension Cafe's location, thinking I might pop in there and check it out. They were far away but I had nothing better to do that day than walk and take pictures, so I refilled my drink once and left with it.

The plan was to walk all the way up Ajo to Alvernon, then head north until I got to the general area where the Botanical Gardens were. Ajo was a LONG slog. My right foot had started to develop blisters the day before and now they were growing. But I kept walking. There was nothing else to do.

Finally at about noon I got to Alvernon. The very first thing I noticed was that it was a very busy highway, with ta da!, NO sidewalks. I began my even longer hike up that disaster of a road. There were several bridges where I had to run over to the middle island to cross or I would have faced 60 mph cars and large trucks going by. After each bridge the middle island turned into round field-like stones about the size of softballs. I could not walk them, so I ran back over to the side, where it was smaller rough sharp stones. I took several pictures of the many crosses that popped up where people had been killed. These mini, private monuments were all over the place in Tucson.

Roadside Cross

I stopped under a tree to take a rest. I know I was hurting my feet, but I'd come too far to go back now. I figured I might be able to find a place to spend the night over by the Air Force base or something. It was a dumb idea. It never would have worked, way too open.

By about 2:30 pm I reached Swan Street and headed down towards the Botanical Gardens. I got there at about 3:00 pm. I walked in like a sweaty homeless guy, because, well...that's what I was. The very young woman behind the counter wouldn't look at me, although no one else was in there. So I said, "Um excuse me..."

She looked up and then gave me the elevator look, and asked "Like can I like *help* you?"

I felt like a fool for even asking. Hell, I felt like a fool anyway. "Is there an admission fee?"

"Yeah, it's like $8.00." She smiled, knowing I couldn't afford it.
I bit my tongue and thanked her. I heard her say, "Have a nice day sir," as I walked back out and sat down on the bench.

I was thirsty, dirty, sweaty and hungry. I walked around trying to remember where Ascension Cafe might be. I asked a couple people and they'd never heard of it. By the time I really needed a rest again the Burger King on Grant Street appeared. Hope! And I could get a drink, maybe a small burger, and use the WiFi to find the quickest way back. I ordered my burger, which WAS small. And I waited on the drink since there was a K across the street where I could buy a $0.79 32 oz drink.

I sat down and took off my pack and vest, pulled the laptop out and tried repeatedly to get online. After a few restarts and trying other nearby signals--something that never works, I walked up to the counter and asked if the WiFi was working. The girl at the register said "No, it hasn't worked for days."

I told her I'd spent the last of my money to buy something there so I could use the WiFi. A very overweight security guard watched me with a suspicious and unsmiling gaze. These restaurants out here have rent-a-cops who sit around discouraging ruffians like myself from causing "problems."

Another woman walked up and said that there was nothing they could do to help me and that it wasn't their problem. I felt the beast rising from its dungeon, but swallowed it down again. "Well I'd like a comment card so I can mention that your restaurant advertises WiFi but doesn't actually have it." She rolled out a receipt and showed my the online comments address. I just said, "I'm not happy."

I turned around, went back put all my stuff back on and walked on what were now two sore feet out the door. I stopped in the parking lot and examined the web address on the receipt. As I did, the fat security guard came out and told me I was trespassing on *his* property and needed to leave. We had a pleasant little conversation...NOT. I didn't lose my temper but I took the opportunity to out argue his logic, which wasn't hard.

He threatened to fine me $250 dollars and said he'd love to call the police. I left without further comment. I was now not a happy camper. I walked across the street and bought my 32 oz drink. And came back outside to the parking lot just as the sun was sinking below the western mountains, where my campsite sat, empty, and the Old Man stood...maybe a little lonely. There was no way in hell I was going to make it back there.

I pulled out my compass and took the nearest eastward running street. Can't remember which one. I was beginning to limp. The pack felt like I was carrying that security guard on my back. Darkness was soaking in again. My ups and downs were turning into downs.

I walked as if in a dream. My pack weight bothered me. My shoulders hurt, but my feet were killing me. These new boots were tough enough to keep stones out, but there souls were showing themselves to be very thin. Every small stone jabbed my blisters. The limping was getting more pronounced. But I had about 8 miles to go across town to get back near Ajo.

Side street after side street passed. I waited dozens and dozens of times for walk signs to turn on. Here in Tucson you WAIT for the crosswalks to be free of traffic. There is no J walking; not because it is illegal (which it is) but because you risk serious injury or death by crossing. The cars are very good about letting people cross where they are allowed to, but generally will not slow down if you are crossing illegally.

The sweat was pouring down my face and dripping onto my dirty jeans and the sidewalk in front of me. I greedily drank my large lemonade until there was nothing but ice. Eating ice then became a ritual to follow every minute or so. I hadn't even pissed all day. I had no need to, I was essentially doing that through my head...which I guess makes my a piss head.

I slowed significantly while passing over Broadway and reached the University of Arizona area. I had no idea where I was going now. The sun was my usual gauge, but it was gone. The darkness was everywhere. I pulled out the compass and consulted it so many times that it lived in the front pocket of my jeans for the rest of the night. It worked well.

All I wanted now was to get near Ajo. Someway I made it near a fast moving highway called Parkway. I heard what sounded like a plane, I found out later it must have been a freight train. It was behind a large wall across the highway to my left. I was now limping my right leg painfully. Every step was felt. If I could only sit down and treat the blisters (in other words cut them open and drain them, that relieves the pain) I know I'd feel better. If you feel sharp pains - like the pain of a cut - on the soles of your feet they are un-popped blisters. I had dealt with them so many times on this trip that I could easily recognize them.

But this was the worst pain I'd felt yet. I just couldn't stop though. Before long the left foot began to blister up and I was limping both feet, trying to use the between-step relief to outweigh the pain of the foot stepping down. This didn't work particularly well.

Beside the blisters my feet themselves were aching from over use. I looked at my pedometer, it read 33 km (20 miles) since I'd left McDonald's that morning. I remembered that I had a bus map in my back pocket and looked up my location. It was not to scale--only a schematic diagram. And not every street is listed, only the major ones that applied to the routes. But it helped. I kept sitting down and resting every chance I got. But whenever a police car drove by they would slow down and stare at me. A few times they waived me on.

It is a kind of hell to be unable to even sit down at night in a city. It's happened too many times to recount. Everyone becomes suspicious of everyone else. The other walkers and the homeless are always looking over their shoulders.

I drained the last of the Camelback after the ice in my drink was gone. I'd stumbled (literally) into some side streets that were a maze of different directions. While walking down one of them the next and most powerful test of darkness occurred...

I'd reached about the midpoint of the block. It was just another of the endless tiny houses. People were driving way too fast. About 25 feet up the road two pit-mixed dogs - one golden and one black - ran into the street. They jutted back and forth not knowing where to go. They did stick together though. The bigger golden dog kept nudging the smaller black dog, herding it toward the sidewalk.

I walked past them but kept an eye on them, by turning around and walking backwards. A few cars slowed down. One guy pulled over and blocked traffic in one direction. He opened his door to make his car appear larger. I stopped and began to walk back.

The dogs ran around dizzy from all the action. The guy ran out in the road and grabbed the golden dog by the collar, forcing him into his car and then closing the doors. I began to run back toward the black dog who, now without his leader, was going crazy, running in and out of the road. I yelled out to the guy, "Are these your dogs?"

He yelled back, "No!" I ran toward the still-open lane to grab the black dog. And I had a strange chill flow through my body. I knew he was in big trouble. Cars continued to fly through the open lane, not even slowing down. The dog was missed, then barely missed. I could see what the dog couldn't see, another pair of headlights barreling toward his direction.

He was on the sidewalk looking back and forth. I heard a voice calling him. It must have been his owner. He looked out across the road...and ran.
I screamed "NO!!!"

The headlights that had been approaching slammed into him with such a force that I will never ever forget the sound. It was plastic, booming like a base drum but also shattering...

I couldn't help myself, yelled, "FUCK!!"...

The car that hit him stepped on the gas and sped away into the night, never slowing down.

The dog was dragged about 50 feet down the road. I knew what was next...
The inevitable sound of its crying and whining filled the air; another sound I won't forget. I jumped into the free lane and stopped the next oncoming vehicle. It was a young lady who slowly pulled over.

The guy who had taken the golden dog into his car ran over and held traffic off as I jogged up the road to the black dog. He was trying to get up and whimpering badly. I knelt down and told him to stay, scratching his neck. I told him he was a good boy. His shock was palpable the front right leg was obviously broken. There was blood flowing out of his nose and all over my left hand which I kept wiping on my jeans. I reached down the back of his spine and felt a bump just above his rear. His lower back was broken.

Sprinter

The young woman who stopped pulled up next to the dog and got out. By this time all traffic had stopped. The guy who got the other dog into his car walked up. While I tried to comfort the black dog, the woman - who happened to work at a vet clinic - examined the animal. She used her cellphone flash to illuminate the scene.

The guy was furiously calling numbers looking for information about nearby emergency animal hospitals. The neighbors were gathering around in a small circle just outside of us. Finally a young man and his mother and little brother drove up alongside. I checked the collar for tags. There were none. I heard the other guy ask if this was the young guy's dog. He said yes. He said that both dogs had jumped the fence "again." He explained it was actually his little brother's dog.
The little brother - about 5 years old - sat with no shirt on, wrapped in a blanket on the back seat with a lost look in his eyes behind big thick glasses. It was obvious he'd never been through this kind of thing before.

Looking up from the dog the young woman sighed. The dog tried again to get up. We tried to stop him, but didn't want to upset him. He almost sat, but with my hand under him rolled over onto his other side. On the other side we saw scrape marks all over him.

Thinking I might be able to use my Missouri connection for advice if necessary I stood up and took a quick picture and video of the dog, who we now learned was named "Sprinter." The young woman explained that the way it worked with expensive procedures like this family was about to face - with a dog that was lose on the street - is that they either pay for it right then at the hospital, or they relinquish all rights to the dog, the state pays for it, and they are never allowed to have contact with the dog again.

I knelt back down and kept rubbing Sprinter's neck and petting him. He had lost control of his bowls when he was hit and smelled strongly of poop. That added more sensations of just how desperate things were. The guy with us on the street told the younger man to put something down on the seat, since the dog was still bleeding from his nose, mouth, shoulders, back and back legs.

The young woman texted a bunch of different people and posted to Facebook. I've never really watched someone text so quickly. It was amazing. She found an animal hospital on the edge of town and called them. She explained the situation. She looked up and told the mother in the front seat that the animal hospital had said exactly what she had said earlier.

The little boy just looked straight ahead, almost catatonic. The dim lights of the car interior shown out upon the road and the blackness - the darkness - of the night filled every outer nook. The surrounding houses were gone from view. Sprinter's eyes moved back and forth watching all that was happening around him. We knew he would come out of shock soon and begin to panic.

The young woman and I decided that it was time to move the dog into the back seat of the car. She told the mother to move the little boy to the front seat, which she did. We weren't really sure the best way to pick up the dog. I decided to let her direct me. She gently began to raise sprinter's chest and told me to pick up his rear end. He let out a few cries as we worked to get him into the car, but he was very good and didn't fight or try to bite us. He KNEW we were there to help. And I was satisfied that we didn't cause him more pain by carrying him.

The young woman couldn't quite push him in all the way I told her that if she could get his front legs in and then pull the towel as I pushed the rest of him in we could fit him all of the way. We did this and it worked. She took the extra towel and draped it over him. I really began to admire her greatly.

The older guy was at the front window talking to the little kid. He told him Sprinter would be be OK and that he should be strong for his dog. The big brother was mostly speechless the whole time. He just stood there and watched everything. The mother was crying, but holding her composure. The little boy sat and stared forward.

When Sprinter was in the car and the woman had the directions for the animal hospital, the young woman counseled her saying, "You guys have to reach back and say nice things to Sprinter. He will feel your fear if you get upset. Do you understand?" The woman nodded. The older guy shut the back door.

I put my hand on the older guy's shoulder and told him he'd done a great thing that night. He reached out and put his arm around me, thanking me. I laid my hand on the young woman's back and said, "Thank you for your quick thinking and leadership. This would have been much worse without you." She looked at me with red eyes and thanked me for also helping.

Asking these two people for names etc, seemed inappropriate. We had been a smooth-working team. Each of us found our proper place by instinct alone. No one designated responsibilities or bossed people around. We simply KNEW what to do. Our Sparks were temporarily united, something like the entangled particles of quantum physics. Our thoughts became simultaneous, synced like a fiber optic connect between computers. We were - for a short time - of ONE MIND.

Once again a group Americans - a group of humans - faced with tragedy and chaos pulled themselves together--fueled by the Will to Act, worked through an extremely stressful event, did what was necessary in an emergency and learned lesson about life that could not have been understood in any other way.

I knew the dog was doomed from the moment I knelt down beside him. His injuries were far too extensive to save him. But I was learning something about this kind of tragedy - having seen it twice now in the last two months - the suffering of an animal who faces death is terrible to witness; sometimes unbearably so. But in doing as much as possible to make that passing less painful, meanings and values are added to the growth of the helping soul.

If one can view things this way, the soul migrates through another layer on its way to the outside of the person. I believe (but you certainly don't have to) - the material identity of the human-animal creature is slowly replaced by a more permanent "substance," one that even might be able to survive physical death.

But none of that philosophizing was on my mind as I walked down that dark street away from the scene of another seemingly senseless tragedy. No. At that moment I hated Tucson. I said out loud, "If I never come back here it will be too soon." I liked the people very much, especially the ones I just worked with. But I was tired of the city itself, with its limitless tiny houses, vastly long sidewalk-less streets, homeless children and adults, trash-lined highways and relatively high prices.

Now with the crying of the dog echoing in my brain, I began to doubt...

It was all too much; the foot pain, shoulder pain, lack of food and water, having no money, being lost at night in *another* city, the callousness of the driver who hit Sprinter, the reality that a kid was going to lose his dog and the trauma he had already gone through in the process, being told I was trespassing just because I complained about WiFi, not even getting to see the Botanical Gardens after walking many miles to get there, the foolishness at even taking AOG seriously in the first place and wasting my time trying to find their cafe. TOO much!

Why did I have to be there for the thing I can't stand the most--animals in pain? I sat in the pitch black park and asked, "Is THIS the Purpose of my journey?"

Begging for money all the time and feelings of guilt about it found their way into the thought process. "What I do doesn't seem to even come close to being equal to what people have given me. Maybe I am a fraud? Maybe there is NO Purpose at all? I keep blabbing about these intuitions of optimism about a New future. *I* know they are Real to me, but only a few other people even dare to comment on them. I don't blame all the others for not doing so! It all sounds like crazy talk! If this blabbing isn't real outside of myself, is it even entertaining enough to be good fiction?"

I thought not.

I got up and started walking again. My feet were beyond sore and blistered now. They were getting numb, burning on the inside. I reached a bike trail that led along another fast moving highway. It was completely lacking streetlights. My thirst was undeniable at this point. I HAD to get some water. I promised myself I would stop at the next store and ask them for a cup of water. Who could possibly deny a thirsty person water? It was the oldest personal request in all of history. For one human being to give another thirsty traveler a drink of water was practically part of our DNA as a species.

I reached a dark tunnel with no light shining through from the other side. I'd come this far, I had no fear about going through it. I didn't even remember that I had the brightest LED light in the world, one bright enough to stop a herd of deer in Missouri, located in the pocket of my back pack. By I wasn't thinking straight.

I entered it and simply kept going for maybe a hundred feet. Finally a dim glow appeared in front of me, where I saw the figure of a man walking in towards me. We walked by each other and said nothing. I have to admit that I DID look back over my shoulder and saw him look over his shoulder. I was out of the tunnel and emerged near an area called South Park. Passing by closed antiques store fronts and a small cafe, I got to Euclid Street. Of course it wasn't on my bus map. I needed to find one that was.

So I just kept going. I had to walk across some rubble in a low profile planter. It felt like broken glass under my feet. This was pure torture. And I was doing it to myself. Then I felt it. A few of the blisters in my right sole popped. For a moment, that does hurt more than the blisters themselves, yet THAT pain is the indication that relief is ahead. It didn't take long to feel that the pressure of the liquid under my skin was gone. It was a good kind of pain; one that felt like at least *some* healing was on the way. I know this is all gross as hell, and I'm sorry for it, but it IS a fact, it is important, and needs to be recorded. The wetness of the blisters soaked the bottom of my sock. Basically, I was just as disgusting as I possibly could be now. Hoorah!

In my mind was the broken glass of a million negative thoughts smashing each other into smaller and smaller pieces. I was used to the Spark handing me an "out" when things got too rough. In truth it had ALWAYS done that. But it sat apparently dormant in the shattered mind.

I eventually saw a large green sign, the kind that rests over the center of intersections on major roads here. My heart dropped to a new depth. It said Broadway Blvd. That was three miles from where I needed to be. Somehow the bike trail had circled around and brought me backwards by at least a mile. I simply could not believe my eyes. The sign for the street I had just stepped on to said Park Ave.

I looked on the bus map. And there was Park. It ran all the way east to Ajo. All I had to do was walk straight and I would eventually be where I wanted to be. I bucked up, swallowed hard and began to move forward. Immediately there was a 7/11. I walked in and asked for a water. The unsmiling attendant handed me a small styrofoam cup and pointed to the soda machine's water dispenser. My hand was shaking and I accidentally poured Dr. Pepper in as he watched me like a hawk. I poured it out and then did the same fucking thing again. If I'd kept what I'd poured I would have had a soda. But that would have violated the principles of our little unspoken agreement. I was to only receive water, even if it cost him a soda. Such is the logic of charity giving sometimes. I poured out the second amount of Dr. Pepper, finally getting it "right" and poured my damn water into my damn little cup. I thanked him as modestly as possible and he sneered at me, continuing to say nothing as I left.

All in all, I was happy to quench my dry throat. I felt its coldness all the way down to my stomach. While walking might excrete water as sweat, drinking water stops sweat, by cooling the body. I sat and enjoyed the first pleasurable feeling in hours. I realized though that if I sat too long I would freeze up and no longer be able to move at all.

Up I went like a nine month and two weeks, pregnant woman with a baby bump on the *back*. And as the night would have it, walked down the wrong street! I saw Euclid again and realized I'd made a mistake. I sat at a bus stop bench there trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong. I was genuinely becoming dangerously confused. Looking up and trying to get better bearings I saw a police car across from me in a parking lot. The buses had stopped maybe an hour earlier and pedestrians are not aloud to loiter on the bus benches. He slowly moved to the edge of the road, like a shark sensing blood in the water. Honestly, I didn't care. If he were to pull up I'd ask him for directions. I always had a story ready, even when I had lost my own ass in the middle of a city late at night.

He moved out into the street and drove passed me without looking. I looked like shit. I had my walking stick strapped to my backpack, like a dangerous weapon, I had a pool of sweat on the ground below me and literally blood on my hands. Figures, though, he drove right by. Is ANYTHING predictable in this world any more?

I realized what I did wrong with the current street. After leaving 7/11 I walked down the wrong street at the intersection. The outside signs are the same on all sides. Rookie error. I'd only gone about a block anyway, so I got up and walked back correcting the error.

After what seemed to be an eternity, through crosswalks and lights that needed to cycle twice through before letting me cross, by gangs of young teenagers whose voices hadn't even changed yet--riding their bikes at midnight on a MONDAY night, past cops who watched every move I made, I ventured on. I could have been walking on bare bone by that time. The overriding need to find a place to spend the night safely and privately overwhelmed all other urges. I just knew I would find one. At least the Spark was placing that one card on the mental table.

I came under the highway overpass on Park Ave. And saw two of my always-welcome signs, McDonald's AND Motel 6. I knew this area was the end of that day's journey. I checked out the location and there were several motels around, restaurants and a convenience store. I went into the Arco gas station, noticing there was a large gravel parking lot in back, with thick bushes behind it, and then went in and asked for a water. They handed my the same size foam cup. That must be the standard corporate offer for thirsting vagabonds: 8 oz of water measured exactly.

The women were much kinder there and let me take two helping in the store and one for the road. I was feeling much better after drinking the water. I walked discreetly around the edge of the store and the across the parking lot and back beyond the shining lights at the front of the store, into the shadows. I easily found a spot concealed by thick bushes to conceal myself, There was even a soda crate to sit on. I loosened the pack and let it rest on the sand. The army vest came off and it met the sand as well.

I sat there for quite some time looking at the motel signs. I played over the nights events in mind. The time was nearing 2:00 am. I suddenly remembered my last 2 oz of vodka and fished it out. Adding it to my ice water, I enjoyed a bit of relaxation, before deciding to roll out the tarp and sleeping bag.

Refuge

I couldn't believe it. I was camping right in the middle of the city. Darkness had haunted me all day and night., testing my steel. I was ready to give in any time during those daylight hours, fully and unconditionally. But my circumstances kept causing me to keeping forging forward, *through* obstacles--not around them.

I sucked on my little vodka bottle until it was gone. And then I climbed in to the sleeping bag for a very deep and dreamless sleep.