Woman go shopping, men go fishing.
I open my eyes to the constant beeping coming from my phone. Wiping the sleep from my eyes I sloppily press buttons on my phone until the incessant noise stops. I momentarily drift off to sleep until the beeping wakes me up again.
I drag myself out of bed and walk across the hall in my boxers to wake up Paul. He does his whole sleep talking routine to try and squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep.
The plan was to go fishing for the day on Paul's Girlfriends Fathers land. Ya, quite a mouthful. We had one problem. Paul's girlfriend said she would call the cops if we took her car, we took the chance.
Following the GPS, a half hour out of town we finally reach our destination. Roger, Paul's Girl friends father ran his sand company on acres of land in North Carolina. Many man made stocked ponds speckled his property. Roger was nice enough to buy us a pair of poles to use for the day.
to be continued...
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
this N that
I like to procrastinate blogging. Not because I don't like, its just that when you have the world at your finger tips sometimes you find yourself speechless. So many new things around you, meeting new people constantly, and putting it into words never seems to do it justice.
For the average driver it takes about four hours to drive from Portland and Seattle. For the average Bus driver, it take about five hours. With snow, it reduces to buses speed to about 35 mph. If you add the 45 minutes to put on chains it still only take about 6 and a half. The last variable is Seattle drivers, who, for the most part have probably never driven in the snow.
As I stood in the well lit Portland bus depot, I fingered the change in my pocket hoping to feel enough quarters to buy a snack at a nearby vending machine. I didn't.
My last meal was over 12 hours ago and consisted of a small bag of Cheez-its, another equally small bag of Lays chips, and some M&Ms. It ran me close to five bucks. Take it from me, bring your own food on a bus trip, or else you might find yourself delirious, hungry and stuck in traffic for hours. Not a good combination.
The last boarding call for Seattle was made. I pulled out my ticket and moseyed over to stand in line by my luggage. In a few short minutes I handed my ticket to bus driver and found a pair of empty seats near the front of the bus hoping to sleep most of the 5 hour trip to Seattle. Little did I know It would take a little longer.
Soft fluffy white precipitation started to fall gently an hour or so out of Portland. Over my shoulder little bits of conversation were overheard. Talk of closing the roads due to snow and such.
After another hour of driving at the high speed of 40 miles an hour the bus driver pulls the coach to a stop on the side of the road and announces he is going to put on chains. A man (who I believe is a bus driver) exits the bus with the man driving the bus. I look out my window, they open the compartments underneath where I am sitting and pull out the chains. The two men laid out the chains, both of them looked rather dumbfounded at how to dress the tires with them. I close my eyes and leave it up to them.
About a half a hour later I feel the rumble of the bus and the bumping of the chains as we fishtail down the road. The bus didn't seem to move faster, but I felt comforted know we won't wind up in any ditches.
I stepped off the bus in Tacoma, about an hour outside of Seattle on a regular day, to stretch my legs. By this point I had been traveling for over thirty six hours, my legs were as stiff as boards, and I was warring a skimpy suit coat. It was about 25 degrees out and I hadn't eating a good meal in over a day. After only a few minutes in the frigid air, I decided I would fair better back on the bus.
Ten minutes outside of Tacoma the bus was surrounded with traffic, but the bus was still moving. I looked across the median; all outgoing traffic was stopped dead in their tracks. I smiled, and said something like "sucks to be them." But I had spoken too soon.
Not 30 minutes from the bus depot, the bus grind-ed to a halt, tetrised in among to thousands of other cars. What had started as a nice drive in the snow turned into a honking traffic jam! (pun intended) At only three miles away from my exit the phrase "close but no cigar" was given a whole new meaning. Crawling along the freeway I made impeccable time at half a mile an hour. I was being torched. Stuck inside this giant tin can with a bunch of negative nancies like sardines. It was the longest 6 hours of my life. I was too stressed to sleep, too hungry to read, and too delirious to make conversation with the others on the bus.
I got stuck in traffic 9ish o'clock, and didn't get to the stations till a little after 3 am.
For the average driver it takes about four hours to drive from Portland and Seattle. For the average Bus driver, it take about five hours. With snow, it reduces to buses speed to about 35 mph. If you add the 45 minutes to put on chains it still only take about 6 and a half. The last variable is Seattle drivers, who, for the most part have probably never driven in the snow.
As I stood in the well lit Portland bus depot, I fingered the change in my pocket hoping to feel enough quarters to buy a snack at a nearby vending machine. I didn't.
My last meal was over 12 hours ago and consisted of a small bag of Cheez-its, another equally small bag of Lays chips, and some M&Ms. It ran me close to five bucks. Take it from me, bring your own food on a bus trip, or else you might find yourself delirious, hungry and stuck in traffic for hours. Not a good combination.
The last boarding call for Seattle was made. I pulled out my ticket and moseyed over to stand in line by my luggage. In a few short minutes I handed my ticket to bus driver and found a pair of empty seats near the front of the bus hoping to sleep most of the 5 hour trip to Seattle. Little did I know It would take a little longer.
Soft fluffy white precipitation started to fall gently an hour or so out of Portland. Over my shoulder little bits of conversation were overheard. Talk of closing the roads due to snow and such.
After another hour of driving at the high speed of 40 miles an hour the bus driver pulls the coach to a stop on the side of the road and announces he is going to put on chains. A man (who I believe is a bus driver) exits the bus with the man driving the bus. I look out my window, they open the compartments underneath where I am sitting and pull out the chains. The two men laid out the chains, both of them looked rather dumbfounded at how to dress the tires with them. I close my eyes and leave it up to them.
About a half a hour later I feel the rumble of the bus and the bumping of the chains as we fishtail down the road. The bus didn't seem to move faster, but I felt comforted know we won't wind up in any ditches.
I stepped off the bus in Tacoma, about an hour outside of Seattle on a regular day, to stretch my legs. By this point I had been traveling for over thirty six hours, my legs were as stiff as boards, and I was warring a skimpy suit coat. It was about 25 degrees out and I hadn't eating a good meal in over a day. After only a few minutes in the frigid air, I decided I would fair better back on the bus.
Ten minutes outside of Tacoma the bus was surrounded with traffic, but the bus was still moving. I looked across the median; all outgoing traffic was stopped dead in their tracks. I smiled, and said something like "sucks to be them." But I had spoken too soon.
Not 30 minutes from the bus depot, the bus grind-ed to a halt, tetrised in among to thousands of other cars. What had started as a nice drive in the snow turned into a honking traffic jam! (pun intended) At only three miles away from my exit the phrase "close but no cigar" was given a whole new meaning. Crawling along the freeway I made impeccable time at half a mile an hour. I was being torched. Stuck inside this giant tin can with a bunch of negative nancies like sardines. It was the longest 6 hours of my life. I was too stressed to sleep, too hungry to read, and too delirious to make conversation with the others on the bus.
I got stuck in traffic 9ish o'clock, and didn't get to the stations till a little after 3 am.
Late
I'm late. I'm never late. Except for this trip. From the start I was not on time anywhere I went. However, since the whole trip was constructed around a "timeless" schedule its impossible to be late. So....I'm never late. Still my lack of blogs doesn't make these last three weeks any less awesome. Ill do the best to catch you up to where I am now.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
North Corolina
Ya that last post was rather long but its amazing what Starbucks will do to you...Venti, capachino, double shot...whipped cream? Yes! Its a good thing I'm typing all this or my hand would be shaking so badly that I wouldn't be able to hold a pen.
Anyway North Carolina, ya. I am so glad I am out of the south...nothing against it, its just I like to understand people when I talk to them. I did still have great time...just smile and nod, smile and nod.
Halloween was great, i dressed up as a lumber Jack, or Paul Bunyun, just no blue bull. Red plad shirt, thick black suspenders, black Car-harts, a very nice plastic brand name Wal-Mart axe...awesome, I know, and of course the what every lumberjack needs a red plaid hat with fuzzy ear flaps.
I met up with Paul Buford there in North Carolina and we stayed at his girl friends mothers house. Good times. Paul was an 80's rock star...long blond hair, tight pants, leather jacket.
Pauls girl friends father took us to an authentic fish fry, with a whole lot of southern old men, that spoke in a think southern drawl. The fish was breaded deep fried and delicious. If you have any questions, feel free to ask, any feedback, I will reply to as well. The southern fish fry was a unique experience that I will probably never be able to experience again.
On my last day there Paul and I went fishing....I will explain all that tomorrow because if I do it now you won't get the full effect, and I care about my readers. That's right I care about YOU!...and maybe I got to be somewhere, but that's neither here nor there. Good night and good morrow.
Anyway North Carolina, ya. I am so glad I am out of the south...nothing against it, its just I like to understand people when I talk to them. I did still have great time...just smile and nod, smile and nod.
Halloween was great, i dressed up as a lumber Jack, or Paul Bunyun, just no blue bull. Red plad shirt, thick black suspenders, black Car-harts, a very nice plastic brand name Wal-Mart axe...awesome, I know, and of course the what every lumberjack needs a red plaid hat with fuzzy ear flaps.
I met up with Paul Buford there in North Carolina and we stayed at his girl friends mothers house. Good times. Paul was an 80's rock star...long blond hair, tight pants, leather jacket.
Pauls girl friends father took us to an authentic fish fry, with a whole lot of southern old men, that spoke in a think southern drawl. The fish was breaded deep fried and delicious. If you have any questions, feel free to ask, any feedback, I will reply to as well. The southern fish fry was a unique experience that I will probably never be able to experience again.
On my last day there Paul and I went fishing....I will explain all that tomorrow because if I do it now you won't get the full effect, and I care about my readers. That's right I care about YOU!...and maybe I got to be somewhere, but that's neither here nor there. Good night and good morrow.
The Greyhound Experience
The first time I traveled on a Greyhound I was 18 and had never traveled anywhere alone for a very long time. As I sat outside the Greyhound station in Bozeman, Mt at three in the morning, the chilling summer air gripping my body causing my teeth to chatter violently. The bus was nearly a hour late and I was wondering if this whole thing was a bad idea. Finally after sitting there for nearly two hours the long sleek whale of a vehicle rolled in and psssssshhhhed to a stop in front of me. I stood up to meet the bus driver handing him my bag to stow under the bus. He took my ticket and I stepped onto the bus. My first impression was a good one. Many seats were empty, leaving me with the choice of wherever I wanted to sit. I found a pair of empty seats to camp out till the next stop. All was quite except for the rumbling of the engine, combined with the bumps of the road its a good environment to fall asleep in...and its all good till you wake up.
That was last summer and after seven days total on a bus I told myself I would never ride a greyhound again. However, here I am in a Star-bucks coffee shop, in downtown Phoenix, Arizona with nearly three weeks left of a two month greyhound trip around the country.
The moment you step onto that a Greyhound bus, time has no meaning. Its similar to the twilight zone, or what I would imagine the twilight zone to be like. After about ten hours on the bus everything blurs together. If your lucky enough to find a pair of seats to yourself, you might be able to sleep two or three hours till the bus driver flips on the overhead lights and as if the talk directly into your ear announces the town that you will be stopping at for ten minutes over the speaker systems, so that the smokers can get there nicotine fix. Imagine being comfortably asleep and in your dream (whatever it may be) you hear the screech of a walky-talky. Ripping from you like separating an egg yoke from the egg white, as you lift up your head an excruciating pain engulfs your entire neck as you the an unrecognizable name is spit over the intercom. The only relief to all this is the realization that you can stretch you cramped legs for a few minute, while the majority of the people on the bus stand there and suck subtle death into there already blackened lungs. Everyone re-boards the bus, you try to persuade you pillow into a comfortable position, knowing that sleep in the only way to escape the stale claustrophobic smell of the smokers. You look at your phone, the lit up screen almost blinds you as you squint at it, 4:47am, the number hardly hold meaning. 10 down, only 23 hours to go. Far to the east, you note the sky is slight lighter as you drift of to sleep.
This time the cramping in you neck wakes you even before you open you eyes. The road vibrates through the bus and rattles your head against the window. The blinding sunlight prohibits you from opening your eyes. After you adjust, you check the time. 7:30 am. Only half an hours till the bus reaches the terminal and you have to collect the oh so heavy bag and haul it to the next gate to do it all over again. The lights outside the station are almost nauseatingly bright, your strung out body barely seems to have the energy to move as the attendants throw bags off the bus,you hope the next one will be yours. Half awake you flinch at the excessively loud" PSSSSSSHHHH" sound the bus makes and hits your sensitive ears drums like a freight train from being in silence for so long. After locating you bag you limp toward the next gate, only 30 minutes till you can board again and go through the whole process again.
The terminal is one of the most entertaining places, especially when your strung out from sleep deprivation. People watching is one of the most hilarias thing to do. A person in the corner sleeps and snores...loudly. A couple to the left are arguing in Spanish. All the people in line with me seem to be hypnotized either looking at the clock or the TV playing the local news station. The interesting thing is that there is no sound and rarely subtitles...I assume master lip readers...YES! A muffed mumbling female voice announces over the intercom that gate 3 (where I am standing in line) is now boarding. As soon as that happens the line deteriorates. Everyone huddles close to the door like a bunch of kinder gardeners hoping their ticket will be the next that the bus driver grabs. I am intolerable to this behavior and do not participate, however because I have hardly slept for the past 24 hours I am not myself and in turn am pushed closer to the door because I am usually near the front of the line.
You find a seat on the bus and hope that the person that chooses to sit next to you will smell better...that well, something bad. The further south you go the more packed the buses become. A wave of relief sweeps over you when the bus driver announces your stop. "Now arriving in Rocky Mount, North Carolina" in his hardly recognizable southern drawl. You have arrived no more of this damned bus for at least three days.
I could go on for longer than you care to read, about life on a greyhound, and maybe have already may have reached that point, but I will stop for you convenience and thank you for reading this far.
Ok, just because I know you the reader enjoy my writing so much I will tell one more little story that happened in the bus terminal...I was in the bus terminal in El Paso, Texas I believe, just standing there in line slightly glancing around. My eyes fall upon a grungy looking man about ten feet away staring at the line I was standing in. With his eyes wide in the direction of my line and to no one in particular he says " Don't do it...not a safe way to travel, take it from me, our bus blew up....lost everything." A few people around him looking to be in the same condition. There bus blew up? What? That doesn't even make sense. We got kamikaze bus driver now? What is this world coming to?
Hope you enjoyed have a nice day.
That was last summer and after seven days total on a bus I told myself I would never ride a greyhound again. However, here I am in a Star-bucks coffee shop, in downtown Phoenix, Arizona with nearly three weeks left of a two month greyhound trip around the country.
The moment you step onto that a Greyhound bus, time has no meaning. Its similar to the twilight zone, or what I would imagine the twilight zone to be like. After about ten hours on the bus everything blurs together. If your lucky enough to find a pair of seats to yourself, you might be able to sleep two or three hours till the bus driver flips on the overhead lights and as if the talk directly into your ear announces the town that you will be stopping at for ten minutes over the speaker systems, so that the smokers can get there nicotine fix. Imagine being comfortably asleep and in your dream (whatever it may be) you hear the screech of a walky-talky. Ripping from you like separating an egg yoke from the egg white, as you lift up your head an excruciating pain engulfs your entire neck as you the an unrecognizable name is spit over the intercom. The only relief to all this is the realization that you can stretch you cramped legs for a few minute, while the majority of the people on the bus stand there and suck subtle death into there already blackened lungs. Everyone re-boards the bus, you try to persuade you pillow into a comfortable position, knowing that sleep in the only way to escape the stale claustrophobic smell of the smokers. You look at your phone, the lit up screen almost blinds you as you squint at it, 4:47am, the number hardly hold meaning. 10 down, only 23 hours to go. Far to the east, you note the sky is slight lighter as you drift of to sleep.
This time the cramping in you neck wakes you even before you open you eyes. The road vibrates through the bus and rattles your head against the window. The blinding sunlight prohibits you from opening your eyes. After you adjust, you check the time. 7:30 am. Only half an hours till the bus reaches the terminal and you have to collect the oh so heavy bag and haul it to the next gate to do it all over again. The lights outside the station are almost nauseatingly bright, your strung out body barely seems to have the energy to move as the attendants throw bags off the bus,you hope the next one will be yours. Half awake you flinch at the excessively loud" PSSSSSSHHHH" sound the bus makes and hits your sensitive ears drums like a freight train from being in silence for so long. After locating you bag you limp toward the next gate, only 30 minutes till you can board again and go through the whole process again.
The terminal is one of the most entertaining places, especially when your strung out from sleep deprivation. People watching is one of the most hilarias thing to do. A person in the corner sleeps and snores...loudly. A couple to the left are arguing in Spanish. All the people in line with me seem to be hypnotized either looking at the clock or the TV playing the local news station. The interesting thing is that there is no sound and rarely subtitles...I assume master lip readers...YES! A muffed mumbling female voice announces over the intercom that gate 3 (where I am standing in line) is now boarding. As soon as that happens the line deteriorates. Everyone huddles close to the door like a bunch of kinder gardeners hoping their ticket will be the next that the bus driver grabs. I am intolerable to this behavior and do not participate, however because I have hardly slept for the past 24 hours I am not myself and in turn am pushed closer to the door because I am usually near the front of the line.
You find a seat on the bus and hope that the person that chooses to sit next to you will smell better...that well, something bad. The further south you go the more packed the buses become. A wave of relief sweeps over you when the bus driver announces your stop. "Now arriving in Rocky Mount, North Carolina" in his hardly recognizable southern drawl. You have arrived no more of this damned bus for at least three days.
I could go on for longer than you care to read, about life on a greyhound, and maybe have already may have reached that point, but I will stop for you convenience and thank you for reading this far.
Ok, just because I know you the reader enjoy my writing so much I will tell one more little story that happened in the bus terminal...I was in the bus terminal in El Paso, Texas I believe, just standing there in line slightly glancing around. My eyes fall upon a grungy looking man about ten feet away staring at the line I was standing in. With his eyes wide in the direction of my line and to no one in particular he says " Don't do it...not a safe way to travel, take it from me, our bus blew up....lost everything." A few people around him looking to be in the same condition. There bus blew up? What? That doesn't even make sense. We got kamikaze bus driver now? What is this world coming to?
Hope you enjoyed have a nice day.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Subways cont.
Basically I desribed the whole subway experience but Ill end on a better note. As I steped off the subway, I looked at the floor to make sure I had solid footing. My 50 pound back pack made me slightly off center. I could feel the studded concrete through my shoes and it reminded me of walking on cobble stones. Strange looks were thrown in my direction as I walked toward the ecalator. Im sure I was quite a site; white T, blue jeans, crocidile cowboy boots, and a back pack as big as I was. A blast of city air hit me in the face like a like a glass of warm water as I reached the next level. Subway is just an other name for wind tunnel. After I slid my fair ticket into machine I meandered on the direction of the escalator that takes you up to the street level. In no way could I have prepared myself for what I was about to see. I stepped onto the moving stairway with my top heavy bag and looked up...and up and up. At the top of the tunnel I saw sunlight shining in, but it was over three hundred feet away. The escaltor carried me up four or five stories from the depths of the subway station to the bright of day.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
the subway part one
So I rode the subway for the first time. Pretty cool huh. I know some of you big city folk think Im just a country bumpkin, but bear with me becuase it might get a little hairy. Boston was the first place I had the opportunity to ride the subway, or T-rail. Everyone there just calls it the T. "were taking the T ya'll, it'll be super fun, Yayy." Except in a Bauston accent and without the ya'll. I just added that for dramaitc effect.And Im like what is the Sesami Street. So ya anyway, your standing there waiting for the "T" going to the "TH" ( which is short for theatre of course). Everyone sort of sludging around waiting to get on the next train that rolls in. Where I got on the first time was outside ( I didn't know subway existed outdoor, so I was like "WOW" this is like a train slash subway). Once the T shows up it squeeks to a stop and the door open and people start to exit the subway car. They come out and give you a like I like to call the subway look, which is simular to the "why are you looking are me" look. And its rather judgmental and rather shocking the first time you experience it. Dont worry I kept my composure and entered the subway cool calm and collected...with my sunglasses even though it was night, cuz im that cool. No one really talks on the subway, they all just think about how nice it will be to get out of this germ infested box traveling a good 40 to 50 miles an hour though a dark tunnel. I find it quite humorous when its rush hour and all the last minute people hop on the bus even though the bells dinging and the anouncer keeps repeating " If the coach is excesivly full please step back, the next train will be arriving shortly." But people keep coming, and they're all thinking just one more person will fit, ya, just one more. Then of course the officially dressed bussiness woman gets her leg stuck in the door and can't keep herself from crying. ( true story) I understand, it happends, nobody wants to be the one stuck in the subway door. Its embarrasing, bad for you image, and God knows what would happen if your boss found out.
Once your crammed in there with the other 20 people right by the door, you start to notice things. The man to my left missed a button on his shirt, another with too much after shave, pit stains, a cute girl sitting a few feet away, and the smell of many people in one place that I do not care to discribe. I wonder what would happen if people on the subway did talk...? Ill leave it at that. Tune in tomorrow for "More on Subways"
Once your crammed in there with the other 20 people right by the door, you start to notice things. The man to my left missed a button on his shirt, another with too much after shave, pit stains, a cute girl sitting a few feet away, and the smell of many people in one place that I do not care to discribe. I wonder what would happen if people on the subway did talk...? Ill leave it at that. Tune in tomorrow for "More on Subways"
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