The mainline on the bowside

This is just a test piece using Windows live Writer to see how it goes.

The first blog post I’ve written since coming off the road back in July.

I hope you will forgive the absence. I’ve been in morning for the   Journey, I guess. Trying to figure out what to do and how to be without my daily employment as a writer and observer of my country and it’s failure to lookout for it’s own. Of the bright tenacity and kindness of it’s peoples in most situations.

Having a purpose like that is hard to give up. It is like the end of a relationship or even a death. Of soul. Of purpose. Of meaning.

It is hard to return to it. There is resistance. I will try to fill in the missing pieces and complete the book of the Journey I only half finished.

I hope to do this more frequently. Resources keep presenting themselves to me. Like this blog tool.

And seeing The Field of Dreams again this afternoon. The scene when Terrance Mann is invited out into the cornfield. The very place I stood in Dyersville just 5 months ago. And he says to Ray Kinsella “I’m a writer. It’s what I do”

After years of not writing, the writer regains his passion, his purpose. It struck a cord. It seemed right. Message received.

Luckily it wasn’t years for me. Just a few months.

04-24-11

I've been too long at the fair
And, lord, I just can't stand it anymore

280.3 miles

Leaving Lake Thunderbird I head back towards Downtown Oklahoma City. I intend to see the Memorial to the Oklahoma City Bombing. The site of America’s domestic terrorist attack by Timothy McVey and his ilk.
Don’t get me started of how much I hate and pity those people living in MY country who hate it so much they will kill and destroy what they perceive as “people trying to take away their rights”. They Have no rights if what they do is this sort of wrong.
I know, I said MY country, like I had ownership.
No. It’s more like I CHOOSE it.
I could never Own the United States. The United States is a fiction…unless we all unite to make it so.
And we’re far from doing that.
Like the Native Americans who were stewards of this land long before we came here, I realize it is not mine to own. It is mine to protect for future generations.
THE LAND.
Not commerce; Not Free Enterprise.
The Land.
The Country.
And Tim McVey and that ilk can burn in eternal damnation for all I care.
They were/are never worthy to call themselves Americans or even citizens of the United States.
I had these thoughts and a few myriad more as I walked near the reflecting pond (which I stepped into at first because there was water all over and I couldn’t tell the walkway on the side was a different level than the black pool area only about a foot lower.)
There is a statue across the street of Jesus with his back to the memorial with his had covering his face and a look of shock and disbelief.
And this day was Easter Sunday.
Fittingly: somber, grey and full of rain.
I tried to capture a small video moment.
And Mischa ended it by embarrassing me by taking a dump on the grass. I, luckily, had a bio-bag with me and collected the log and made a hasty exit.
I’d seen enough already anyway.

I started driving west to see if I could drive into sunshine somewhere in this state. I knew of a campsite way west called Foss and thought I’d stay there if I didn’t find anything suitable earlier.
I’d called family in Colorado to try to prepare for coming into that state next week (my Birthday week) and see if there might be a place to stay for a few of the days there.
I was told that one of my nephew’s and his family who had been living in the Redding area of California had just recently moved to Oklahoma!
I called my nephew. He’s a trucker and was in Las Vegas at the moment, but confirmed, yes, he did live there…in Shawnee! And I was welcomed to stay there. He’d given me his address and home number and I called his wife. No Answer.
I got a call a bit later from my nephew who said his wife wouldn’t be home today as she was going to spend the day with her sister who lived nearby.
I took the news in a stunned sort of way. I had though I had been given this great gift of shelter from the road at a time when I needed it most only to have it denied by fate.
I continued west and found nothing better than a foggy overcast in all directions of sky.
I drove to Foss lake and while it might have been a temping, even beautiful spot on a dry summers day, it  took the inhospitable look of a Scottish loch in winter or a windblown  Newfoundland beach.
I started heading back hoping the Red Cliff’s canyons might provide more shelter and warmth. I drove back via Weatherford along it’s stretch of old route 66 and before getting back on the freeway to head east again I stopped for some McInternet time and to rest my eyes for a moment. It was almost 6 pm and the day was getting to me. I rechecked my finances and saw they were low again. I had been hoping that fund from a friend who had told me he could help back on the 6th of the month might be forthcoming but still nothing had shown up
.
Then a call.
My nephew in Las Vegas. His wife was at home and had seen a number she didn’t recognize and wondered if it had been me. He said, I could go there tonight!
I called her - indeed I was invited to stay. I was at least 75 miles from Oklahoma City and I wasn’t sure how far it was to Shawnee after that but I said I’d be there in just over an hour.
I’d checked the weather just before the call and it looked like I might just get there during a little break in the storm patterns projected for that area.
I drove like a mad man for over an hour and got there with very few moments of heavy storm action. I pulled up to their house just as a phone call came in. “Are you close?” Is your front door open…I’m in front of your house” Oh…then I’ll see you in a moment!”
I got in and settled and was soon ready for sleeping. It was a welcomed change from how I had expected this night to end.

------------------------------------------------------
As I drove from Weatherford towards Oklahoma City & Shawnee a friends song came on the radio. I had never heard it in the context I was hearing it in at that moment. My attention was being drawn to the rawness of the situations described in the lyrics - all of which seemed to be mine just prior to the call.

Firefall - Just Remember I Love You

When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone
The days get rainy and the nights get long
When you get that feelin' you were born to lose
Staring at your ceiling thinkin' of your blues

When there's so much trouble that you wanna cry
The world has crumbled and you don't know why
When your hopes are fading and they can't be found
Dreams have left you waiting, friends have let you down

When it feels like sorrow is your only friend
Knowing that tomorrow you'll feel this way again

When the blues come callin' at the break of dawn
The rain keeps fallin', but the rainbow's gone
When you feel like crying but the tears won't come
When your dreams are dyin', when you're on the run

And all those dark feelings had been my companion through this long day.

But the phone call - it had added the chorus to the song.

Just remember I love you
And it'll be alright
Just remember I love you
More than I can say
Maybe then your blues will fade away*

And, I may not be a believer, per se, but…
Today was Easter, after all.

* Lyrics Rick Roberts

Chapter 1: Vegas, man! Where else?

01-16-11

“To that point out there where all roads vanish;
I'm going to Vegas, man! Where else?!”

“Until one is truly committed, there is a chance to draw back…”

Breakfast with the Beh’s Dick has made some wonderful scrambled eggs. They overfed me again!
They are looking at my future prospects, not my waistline! Or it’s just that they are exceptionally kind.
Before they leave for church and I leave for the road, I take their picture. They give me a key to their house.
What people are these? I’m overwhelmed and grateful. Thought it may well be a year or more before I have the occasion to use that key again. It is the gesture that will always - always stay in my heart. I lock up their house and leave for Las Vegas to start this thing, before fear or common sense deters my resolve.
But before I can set my mind to the road I have a few local friends to see before I go.
Paul Brewer is an illustrator and a High School  friend. We talk about music, art, politics, spirituality and my journey. Paul is a vibrantly creative soul. He and his wife write and illustrate award winning children’s books. He’s a Zappa fanatic.
Joel Broude I’ve known since we met at writing classes at Orange Coast College. We’ve stayed in touch loosely over the years. I’ve seen him marry his sweetheart, Nora and followed they growth of their son Eric though his recent college graduation. Joel is concerned and chastises me. He says I’ve never developed a healthy relationship with money. As Dan Bern would say - “Can’t argue”. 
He gives me more than I think he should for someone who doesn’t believe in what I’m attempting . And not at all in any of the donation categories I’ve outlined in my benefactor levels.  He’s either given way too much or a bit too little. But he says “This is all!”.  I hope to change his mind - not so much about his donation level or even his assessment of my respect for money - but that what I’m doing …is…it’s own calling. Something I have to do . To test myself. To measure myself (and my faith in my fellow man/woman). Something indescribable will generate from this path. And As I take their picture and their friendship with me I head out on the road…to find out.
I drive up the 405 to the 5 to the 55 (passing by my friend Paul) up to the 210 (past my friends the Hydeman’s)  and then on past  Barstow and Blyth and on and on until…10:20 pm.
Nevada!
The first week begins!
I don’t recognize Las Vegas. What happened to stateline? Vegas now joins it at the border. What used to be the end  of the Strip area is now way  up the road ! I get off the freeway and head up the route that will take me to Red Rocks Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Park. I stop for gas and am delighted to see the price. $2.99!  When I last got gas in California $3.23 was the best I could find! Finally leaving the developed are of Charlston Blvd. (When did all of this development  happen?) I drive past tract homes for only two miles (2!) before I find the entrance to the camping area. As I drive in , burros are sauntering ahead of me. Tow of them get the hint and start to canter away…but the last one is still mosey-ing. My tire spit’s a rock up and that gets his attention. He soon catches up with the others.
 [my joke: They are the famous "Burros of  Land Management"]
I pull in to the campsite area and read the sign. Honor pay station. I’m not sure exactly how this system works but I get a spot, put the tent up - settle Mischa in and then fill out the envelope per instructions and am ready to put it in the deposit slot, only,  I have a one, a ten, and a couple of twenties - the amount is  $15.  I don’t want to lose $5  and I don’t want to get booted for not paying the full amount. I ask a nearby camper if they can break a $20. He can’t, but he has $4. “Here, take it.”
I’m good for it, I say.  I’ll get change for you first thing in the morning! I appreciate it.
I’m moved by the trust and think I’m off to a good start. I take what “signs” I can. This will be even more tomorrow.
But that’s another day.
Time for sleep - Nevada Week / week one of the journey had begun!

Chapter 1: 01-15-11

01-15-11

O-oh, what I want to know is
Where does the time go?

I talked with Margo & Dick about their night out - they said it was nice, old friends, dinner & dancing. Margo mentioned that my Father (her first husband) had been a great dancer. I’d never have guested (or even though about his dancing abilities.).
I got some laundry washed and watched some of the playoff games with Dick but I left before the final game was decided as I had a meeting with an old college friend at a Starbucks in Coronado. Kate had recently moved to the Coronado area from Fresno to become Principle for an arts High School.
I left at 4:30 to navigate to the Starbucks she’d suggested we meet at.
It was good to see her again and we talked about my planned journey and her new adventure with the school. She is attending a play that night that her school is presenting.
The play has stirred up some pseudo-religious controversy. She is pretty sure the  alleged protesters have backed off, but the counter-protest group is set to be there to support the play regardless.
And the controversy had boosted ticket sales. Kate has to leave to get to the show in advance and is getting lattes and such for her cohorts. It is always good to see her. She lives life large and fully from all I can tell. I want her life when I grow up!!

01-14-11

“Is it hard to make arrangement with yourself?”

I was going to stay one more night at Doheny  but found out every site friday evening was pre-reserved. I found out at 1:15 pm - 45 minutes before reserved campers were allowed to take their sites.
I’d just called the Beh’s earlier that day accepting their offer to stay a few nights with them down in Coronado Cays for the following night. I had to call them back to see if they could move the visit up a day to that evening.
Luckily, they said it would be okay.
I got the campsite packed and in the car at the stroke of 2pm!
I got to Coronado around 4:20 PM - The drive was pretty quick…until I got onto the strand in Downtown Coronado. Friday night traffic was about the same as Tuesday afternoon traffic there - slow. (I had yet to learn of the secret back ways!).
The Beh’s were going out with friends that night but that didn’t prevent them from setting me in a room; giving Mischa & I the grand tour and making us feel at home. The even gave me access to a computer to start doing my Journey page and connect with some friends in the area before I left.

Chapter 1: 01-13-11 On the Road Again

01-13-11

On the Road Again


Packed the car and left Jan & Barry’s place 11 am.
Headed back to Doheny ($35).
No fire tonight, just a walk around the campsite. Learned about “Camp Hosts”.
Took some pictures of beach and Mischa.
Went to sleep early.
Woke up about 1 am for a bathroom visit.,
Upon returning, I saw Orion over my tent with the sky melting into the ocean.
In the morning I asked about the Camp Host Program.
Found resources nearby for Chase Bank, 99c Only Store, and Post office.
I had to find a change of address so I could forward my mail from my Simi Valley address.
After an abortive original location for Santa Cruz, I had a friend in Hughson agree to let me use her address as my new mailing address. I can now have my mail go to someone I can trust and will notify my of any urgent/important looking mail (taxes, car insurance/registration); Change my bank account from Chase (raising their banking fees Feb1) to US Bank (Free Checking and a bank I can walk into and deposit cash); have  an “address of record”  (for mail, DMV, car insurance, etc.) so I’ll have an official “residence” status in California and the US even though I will actually be “homeless”. My car is my defacto “home” though it and Mischa & I will constantly be changing locations on a near daily basis. If things go to plan.

Chapter 1: 01-12-11 When You dream...

01-12-11

"When you dream, What do you dream about?"

I had the idea to get the cigarette lighter working in my car so I could charge cell phone, PDA, iPod shuffle and hands free Bluetooth device as well as be able to use my apple laptop to write these notes. Best Buy tech checked out every fuse in my car (only one is connected to the lighter circuit) and he never tried or tested the connections of the lighter device itself.
Instead he had me buy (from an auto parts store) a new “complete lighter”.  Then he told me it would be a least  a half hour (at $20 every 15 minutes) to install it - with no guarantee that it would actually work. Forty to sixty dollars just to connect a cigarette lighter. I passed. I still need to get the lighter working, but It’s got to be cheaper than that! (See 02-08-11 for the resolution of this particular issue).
Jan cooked an amazing dinner. Burritos, salad, pears and banana pudding,. (Way too much good food again,)
They watched Iron Man with 6-10 minutes of commercials every 15-20 minutes. I went to bed at 9pm, thoroughly exhausted.

Chapter 1: 01-11-11 Expecting to Fly

01-11-11

Expecting to fly

Camped at Casper’s Wilderness the night before. Dog’s not allowed, but I wasn’t told and I didn’t ask so they let me & Mischa stay the one night. Even gave me a discount - $15.
Went to stay the next two nights with Old friends, The Hydeman’s. It was nice to see them, have access to a bath and a bathroom in the middle of the night. I tried to cook for them but they had meals already planned.
I ate too well, which seems to be common with my hosts.
I’ve got my own food and am way far from starving, but of course, thankful for their kindnesses.
But it’s not food I’m hungry for. It’s purpose. Contribution. Validity for my day.
When I’m camping there’s been little to do after putting up the tent. When I’m at a friend’s home I follow their plans and try not to disturb their habits. I felt guilty about having my hosts have to sign back into their  FB or mail accounts several; times a day.
I started noticing the habits of a home and thinking about what “home” means. Obviously different things for different people. I noticed as I’d packed up my many possessions for storage home much my things “owned” me in many ways. And I noticed it in my friends as well. Finished with a days work, it was dinner, TV, maybe a movie or some music…then sleep. I had had that pattern myself. But I was not a participant any longer. Jackson Browne first voiced “They’re lost inside their houses, there’s no time to find them now”. We’d never have been  the people Jackson wrote about…but somehow…we did. Natural progression. Lethargy.  Just plain tired and seeking the path of least resistance.
I felt like an outsider to life. I didn’t have that lethargy. I was on pins & needles feeling on the verge of unexplored territory. Excited; frightened, but anticipatory.
I stood on the edge of a feather…expecting…something.

Chapter 1: 01 - 10 - 11

01 - 10 - 11

“Oh, you don’t know the shape I’m in”

Packed up from Doheny State Beach and drove to Orange to “Just-In-Time” Overnight delivery and brought my DMV print out. I’d applied before Christmas and ha gotten an email back on January 3rd asking for a resume. I sent it saying I could be available to interview as early as that Friday (the 7th) or anytime the next week at his convenience and that I’d  bring the Printout at that time.
Not getting a replay, I decided to go in Monday to give the Printout with hopes that he might interview me while I was there. He did - sort of.
He had no recollection of having asked for my resume. He had e fill out another application and then he and another person grilled me. “ Any DUI’s”? “What are the points on your record for?!”
I don’t believe I have any points on my record currently” I replied . “See, the last dates have “’ero’ and ‘clear’. The earlier points were from 2000  and came off in 2006. I believe they were parking tickets.”
 It went on in a dismissive inquisitional tone. He asked about why I’d been out of work for so long. I perhaps responded poorly for an interview but I was so taken back by the question. You have no idea how difficult it is to find a job out there these days. This is the worst economy since the great depression! I’ve applied for dishwasher positions and had the same question asked.  And HR  people don’t get it at all. They still operate under the belief that ther must be some character flaw if you can’t find work within g three months!” Like I said, perhaps not the best response in an interview situation.. But, JESUS, where have these people been living for the last 5 years? The  last 3 years with daily reportage about the unemployment situation! I honestly believe that they don’t make the connection  between the unemployed (bad, lazy people) and record high unemployment  levels (just a number, like “11% unemployment”)
Anyway, they said,  “We’ll look over your application and see if we have anything  part time for you. We’ll call you in a couple of days if we do.” “For maybe a part time position?” The  Job listing was a full time position. And I’d have taken it too!
My hopes dimmed.  I hoped for a call over the next few days But the call never came. I called later. Position filled.
I had experience in the field. But I’m sure many others did too. There are a lot of bodies out there for every position listed. It’s a crapshoot as to who get’s it. But the odds favor the younger, out of work short applicants.

I left there that day thinking I  was going to be camping at Huntington  Beach that night (or Bolsa Chica) but it turned out that the information I’d received was ill-informed.  I checked out every possible campsite all the way down till I was almost back at Doheny -Newport Dunes, Crystal Cove…Camping was either for Rv’s only or just too expensive for my budget. I headed back towards campgrounds in the south, trying to avoid going back as far as Doheny. It was a great place, but I was already trying to economize. O’Neill Park had been a first choice, but it was closed due to muddy conditions (Still is, as of Feb 16th, 2011) after two other locations didn’t pan out I called a place just before Doheny, but inland and cheaper called Casper’s Wilderness. The price wold save me $15 for the night and it was close by.
Great luck. They were open and the price was even lower than Doheny. I drove up Ortega Highway and finally arrived then found out “You can’t have a dog here. Didn’t they tell you?”
“No. they Didn’t”
“How many nights were you planning to stay”
“A couple”
“I’ll give you one”
“Ok”
The ranger was a nice guy - gave me a discount on the price, so a $25.00 fee became a $15.00 stay for the night. The “Nice guy” discount. I think I got the discount because HE was “the nice guy”.
Turns out a wilderness park is focused on protecting indigenous animals natural habitat. And letting dogs there reduces the space the “locals” will feel safe in. Also, if my dog  defecates there, the processed food she eats will chase away a variety of animals who will smell it and notice a foreign odor and never return.
So I kept Mischa on a lease and in the tent. The tree we pitched out tent beneath was occupied by a very loud bird. Crow possibly, but I think maybe a magpie. Quite freaked out by our proximity.

But the thing that freaked me out and woke me from a dead sleep…was silence. No crickets, birds, frogs. Not even cars along the highway behind us (which could be quite loud - lots of bikers and muscle cars and trucks in need of tune ups passed by on a regular schedule it seemed.) but this was total absolute silence. I instinctively though a relatively large predator might be near. Bobcat, Mountain Lion, Cougar all three of them - what ever name you want to call it. It could be stalking my doggie…or ME!
But then the normal sounds started to breath again…and so did I.
Though each time that repeated during the night…I was  wide awake.
I imagined mountain lions or coyote packs coming after us! But eventually my hyper-vigilance waned and the only thing that disturbed my sleep were the trucks or motorcycles that roared by on the nearby highway.

Chapter 1: Pre-Road Downs (12-23-10 thru 01-09-11)

"Oh, the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry anymore"

 
Dec -23-10
Applied for Jobs in Orange County & Santa Cruz
Driver Position jobs in Orange - Video Producer Coordinator @ UCSC in Santa Cruz

Dec/24-25/10
Spent Christmas Eve & Day with my friend Paul visiting tow of his friends group gatherings one Christmas eve til midnight.
Then up at 7am to visit his friend Michelle’s family breakfast.
Then home around 2pm to rest up before returning that night for Christmas dinner.
Other friends (Nina & Gary) call to invite us to their shindig. We visit them until just about 4pm when we leave to go to dinner (of course we had to have some enchiladas and desserts while we were there.)
At the Dinner it was wonderful, spinach stuffed chicken, homemade dressing - the works, but a heavy rain has begun and I have to drive home in it. I got home after midnight cold but full and happy to see my dog and go to sleep.
Dec 26
I begin a week long process of packing - loading my landlords truck and unloading it into my storage space.
It is a hectic, strenuous, tiring week.
Dec 28th
The big move day. I get in all the big items but I still have boxes of stuff to move out of 3 rooms, bathroom, kitchen & garage. I get to use the truck again and load the truck over the 29th & 30th.
Dec 31st
New years eve. Rain is threatening. I move the last of this truckload off the lift gate just as the rain starts. As I am filling my 9x10 to the top and to the gate, rain is pounding on the metal roof above. After some logistical repacking I manage to get the last items in with hardly an inch of space to spare.
I return the storage company’s cart unmolested by rain; dehydrated , covered in sweat and completely exhausted.
My feet feel like a tympanist has been playing the 1812 Overture on them with meet mallets.
Walking is like a cross of John Wayne, Chester (from Gunsmoke) and Walter Brennan. (And I feel older than all of them combined).
My back hurts and un-rained upon, my clothes are sweat-soaked. My intentions upon arriving “home” (already the term is losing its currency with me) is to: (in this precise order) drink a LOT of water; pet my dog, Mischa; take a LONG hot bath!!
- an hour or so later - feeling more human (if barely more ambulatory)  I decide I’m not  let the new year  pass unheralded’ I go to my local store and get: 1package of black eyed peas, 1 ham hock and 1 bottle of the cheapest sparkling wine I can find (Andre Asti Spumante - $3.99!)
Just prior to the close of east coast new years I call and leave a message for a friend on the east coast just on the stroke of midnight there and then call my friend Diane and her family here on the west coast as I know they will be going to sleep  in minutes If I don’t call them right then!
As I push the speed dial I twist the cap off the Asti Spumante to drink a toast with them. (It’s Andre, remember - there’s no cork popping here!)

01-01-11
I was supposed to be out and begin my homeless phase today, but my landlord, Mike, has given me an extension that actually lasted until 01-07-11.
On  Monday, Dec. 27th , my editor Rebecca, at the Moorpark Patch, sent me two possible assignments. A list of places to go for New Years and another of my man on the street  interviews. I was unsure if I could fit them in with my move going on but I told her I’d try and if I couldn’t I’d let her know by Wednesday morning so she could re-assign them.
I’d managed the first one by Wednesday morning but couldn’t swing the interviews until Thursday. I managed to get the story out by 3:25 as it would now run on New Years Day!
That was my last official story  for the Moorpark Patch. But my last interviews were another story. I chose to go to the Cactus Patch restaurant on High street in Moorpark because of so many of my interviews had been from there. The place is such a hub of community that it makes “Cheers” seem like just another watering hole.
I had another reason I wanted to go there. Two, actually, as I had never eaten there and felt I should have at least sampled their fare once before I left.
But the primary reason was that on an interview assignment before Thanksgiving, I’d interviewed one of their employees, David Engraham, who was a young kid with a ready smile, a kind heart and an inner light that shone for all to see. Just after that Thanksgiving, that light was put out, apparently due to asthma.
In our interview he’d talked with great anticipation of spending the holidays with his father’s side of the family and meeting them for the first time. Happily he did get that experience before he died. The thing was, I had his voice on tape from that interview. A voice that expressed a joy and kindness that my typed words could never convey. So I wanted to get  the tape to someone that it would mean something to. That it might ease a sorrow or lift  a saddened heart. Bring a smile upon the listening. So that day I asked if it would be useful for anyone of them. The next day, New years day, I brought and played them the micro cassette with David’s voice and expressiveness on it. I hoped it would do much good. From the smiles on their faces, I thought it just might.

Jan 1-7
A repeat of the prior week but for a smaller space (5x5) and the soreness seemed to increase exponentially.  I was also trading my CD collection to my landlord (after selling what I could to the people who bought my record collection) to cover what I owned him from my November rent (my deposit covered my December rent). My deal for the 9x10 storage was pre-pay 3 months in advance get 3 months, but I only had enough for 2 months in advance for the 5x5 so I took that deal and packed my remaining positions minus a few items that stayed with my landlord and left the afternoon of December 7th (a day that will last in infamy…); my car loaded to the gills for my life on the road.
I had been offered a few nights at my friend Paul’s in Anaheim before beginning being homeless in earnest. And I still had that potential job interview in Anaheim that could turn everything around.
As I walked to my car, the Mock Orange tree took it’s last shot at me and scraped several big gouges into my head.  I’ll miss you too, tree!

Jan 8-9
Two good das with my friend/brother Paul who didn’t quite get why I’d choose this journey over going to a shelter. Maybe it’s for other people but the kind of restricted confined dependent life that those places have to offer…makes me shudder. Like in the movie Shawshank Redemption “Either get busy living or get busy dying”. I chose life. And those places are sure death to me. Or Hall and Oats “The strong give up and go, while the weak give up and stay”. 
If I’m going to beg for a living, I’ll do it on my terms. Better to beg from friends and associates and  a acquaintances with some possible exchange of value for their contribution, then to be subservient to a system that neither cares for you or your success, nor is designed for it. Plus I have a dog to care for, it just wouldn’t work that way.
I leave to go to camp at Doheny State Beach (where I ended up - I was actually going to camp at O’Neill park…but they were closed - their ground was too soggy - thru March it turned out!) and Paul give me directions to the cheap gas station in Fullerton…and $100! He is my first supporter! Not part of my 3 levels of solicitation - far above the first two and below the top level; but I’m surprised and touched by this from him. He’s dealing with difficult economic times himself and has just mentioned that his main supporter at his main client, Mitsuhishi, is no longer going to be with the company and someone whom he had had previous difficult dealings with is taking that person’s place. This did not bode well for his Creative Corral Advertising business. So, to give me that was a wonderful gift. I knew he didn’t understand. But he supported just the same. I struck me that I had more joy in my life at that moment as I drove off into an unsure future with nothing but my car, my dog, the things I stuffed into the car and his hundred dollars, than he did. He trusts structure and doesn’t seem to deal well  in it’s absence - his or anyone else's. He is a good man, one you can trust, one with a ready smile and surprising hidden creativity behind his button down persona. If you know him, It’s only surprising that it seems hidden from others. He’s always been creative. But, it’s like his secret identity. Only his inner circle see behind the mask. In a traditional Hollywood movie, he’s the one smiling and waving encouragement as I drive off and I’m the one choked up and teary eyed, worried about the future.

Oh, I'm on my way. I know I am. Somewhere not so far from here.

Like Cat sang, I'm going to wind up where I started from.
Least, that's the plan.
48 states  in 48-9 weeks and back to California from Oregon. Just before Christmas next year.
Along the way camping with my dog Mischa, taking pictures, recording interviews, composing a book of the journey
I've been paid to write for the past 3 months and it felt good to do something productive and get paid for it. Especially something I felt some pride doing and something others seemed to enjoy reading.
So now it's time to attempt to find a way to do this.

My grandfather had a book by Rene Descartes called "The Body of Philofohpy" (The "F's" were used as "S's" back then).
The book had elaborate illustrations of the coat of arms of all the benefactors of the work.
What I propose is a similar endeavor.
50 Benefactors supplying $1 a day for a year ($365)
300 Supporters supplying $1 a week for a year ($52)
600 Subscribers supplying $2 a month for a year ($24)

A total of 950 unique individual benefactors to the work.

At the end of the year, either I will have a book deal or will self publish.
The Benefactors will have their name above a Chapter heading as well as on pages at the back of the book, indexed.
The Supporters will have their name to the top left of a Non Chapter page as well as on pages at the back of the book, indexed.
The Subscribers will have their name to the bottom left or right of a Non Chapter page as well as on pages at the back of the book, indexed.
The 50 Benefactors will get a copy of the book free.
The 300 Supporters will have the option to buy the book at half price.
The 600 Subscribers will have the option to buy the book at a 25% discount.

So - I'm asking for financial help/support on this endeavor.
I know a few people who know me well enough to be my Benefactors on this, and some who have a since of me from the last few years on Facebook that it wouldn't seem too strange to be one of the 50.
But with these economic times as they are, I see it can be a hardship for many of my friends who know me best.
If you do offer to support me on this venture, pick one and only one level of support and only one that feels comfortable to you financially.
If you're unsure, watch Facebook and this blog (only for the 50) as I progress through the states and decide if it's been a good read and worth $24, $52 or even $365. Once I fill a category I will return (or apply to the next lowest open level) the balance of your money (or if you've sent more than on support level.)
I want to solicit funding but at low donation levels and only one donation per person. I guess part of my aim is to see how many friends I can convince to follow this adventure with me.

The plan is to merge the concepts of Steinbeck's "Travel's with Charlie", and Studs Terkel's "Hard Times" & "Working" interviews into a documentary piece about contemporary America.
Seven days in each state, and interview each day, commentary on the days news from that states media, my travelogue, day-to-day minutia of places visited, routes taken, items paid for, supplies used. Rants, photos, audio and perhaps video files along with music & movie or literary quotes strewn about the veiwing landscape for your enjoyment.

I'm also looking for "hosts" people who know me and would be willing to put me and my dog (Mischa) up for a night or two (no more than 3 evenings max) and show me your area, tell me it's history, tell me stories of your dealing with the recent economy, any 99er's or homeless like me you could introduce me to, or anything you might think of that could represent you, your state and our time well.

I feel like I'm being "called" to do this, and have been thinking about this for over a year. But I can't do this alone. I need assistance. And I'm asking for those of you that can see the use of this adventure, as I do, to support me on this journey, this quest.

If you can, send (and put your name in the comments as you would like it in the book) $24, $52, or $365 to
Paypal: for cohalen@yahoo.com

I expect to begin this journey the week of the 16th - probably in Nevada.
I'll post more as I go along.
- Rik