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last updated: 22 june 2006 I planned to drive to Seattle from Columbus OH after my friend Dave got married on August 24. I would take a carload of possessions and a cat across the country in four or five days. I would then have a few days to knock around, find a place to live, and then show up for work the morning after Labor Day. I had flown to Seattle on August 8. Before I left, I put the cat up with my friends Beth and Matt and their quintuplet of felines. Most of my second-string belongings and the van were already in Dayton. My grandparents' house had become the staging area for the relocation. While I was in Rain City -- where it was sunny and 80 for 12 days -- I got a good lead on a part-time job wrangling kids on the Hill, I bought a gong, and I spent too much time downtown. I had a strong sense of connection and ease with Seattle -- something that felt like I'd lived here before. I flew back to Columbus on August 22. No one was there to pick me up. I had called Mary from Seattle and maybe St. Louis with flight information. It was as I walked into the terminal that the thought "they're not in town" came to me. "That's why she had said I could get a key from Pete or Molly." I didn't have ths confirmed until a day or two later, when Molly told me Mary and Joe were in San Diego or Yuma or somewhere in Mexico looking for Don Juan Tannenbaum. So that first night, I camped in Molly's backyard. It was a welcome change, despite the humidity, from the infamous Green Tortoise Hostel. I'm confused about when I did what on Friday and Saturday: I got a key somehow, I drove around town twice, and I packed a lot of junk out of the house on Stewart and left it on the steps at South Third. I remember talking to Kristen for almost two hours, then going to move more stuff for another hour, and then going directly to either the wedding or the rehearsal dinner. In the hours after that event, I was sitting in Larry's -- that notorious gay bar* on High and Woodruff. I had been invited by Kristen to join our friends at a show by Moritmer, the band led by local impresario Robert Silver. I was glad to be there because Bob had invited me to many shows in the past and I hadn't made it to any of them.
* - Rumor perpetuated to keep fraternity brethren
Monday: My grandfather and I removed the passenger seats from the midsection to make more cargo space. Mr Shaftcat was not allowed in the house and awoke in a new location for a third straight day. I crammed all sorts of junk into the van until 10 p.m. At some point, I stepped out of my narrow mental track and called Chicago to tell Andrew and Cinnamon that I wasn't going to arrive that night. Tuesday: After a little more pushing and packing, the cat and I were underway. The cat was extremely agitated and the van was full of the scent of his urine. By the time I reached Chicago, the heat and meows and smell had brought on a drilling headache. I never saw the exit I was supposed to take to the northside. I finally got off the highway when I had passed O'Hare.
I drove back along Devon and found my friends' place. One of their cats was completely put out by my companion, who was completely put out with me after he was dunked in the tub. Wednesday: I went out to Devon around 8 a.m. to start the parking meter. I walked right by the van and began to think it had been towed, which happened on my last solo trip to the city. After I realized my mistake, I searched for a lube joint. I knew I would need to get an oil change in Chicago. As if to make it perfectly clear and unavoidable, the gauge had lit up just as I entered the Ryan expressway the previous night.
However, the midsection of the van had to be emptied in order to have the vehicle serviced. So Cinnamon helped me remove most of what I'd packed. We left the passenger seats in the alley along with clothes I had not donated before I left Ohio. The clothes were gone before I left; someone took the seats and fastening bolts soon afterward. With new oil and tranny fluid, the clean and somewhat calmer cat and I made it through Wisconsin. There was a long stop north of Madison, during which time I tried to assist a trio whose thermostat and radiator were cooked. The next stop was Winona MN, just across the Mississippi from Wisconsin. As I searched for a campsite, I was transfixed by the sight of the waning moon as it rose above the black horizon. A short time later, I set up camp on a high bank near the river... the current of stars in the Milky Way directly overhead. I "awoke" during the night and saw the moon pass right above the trees, as if it was coming down from space to roll in the water. Thursday: I finally began to rack up miles. I stopped in the Valley of the Blue Earth, not knowing that this was the location of Green Giant Foods. I just needed to buy some toothpaste and a razor. And then I saw the three-story statue next to the high school. "Ho ho ho!" Mr Shaftcat's tolerance for travel seemed to have increased. If I could have left him covered in the sleeping bag, away from all the noise, then he would have been quite comfortable. But into the carrier he went. This was situated in the passenger seat, with six plants on the floor and in the cup holders. Water and food were placed between the seats along with maps, the camera and assorted tools.
I exited the highway and drove to Platte SD. Before I arrived, I pulled off of the road and attempted to photograph the sunset in time-lapse. While I waited, the owners of the property I was adjacent to came home and asked if I needed help. I explained that I was just waiting for the sunset. They drove around the corner and I could see that a faraway front was going to obscure the view. I continued to stand around and then a state trooper rolled up, asking what I was doing. Same answer. This reminded me of a time when I lived in Flagstaff four summers ago. Mercury was at its highest after sunset and I had pulled onto the shoulder to get a view. I placed the camera with a zoom lens on the hood of the car, trying to find a bright yellow dot in a field of orange-teal. A Coconino County sheriff's deputy rolled up (I was parked facing traffic) and the headlights were all I could see but I just stayed there. He walked up and asked if I had a problem and I explained that I was looking for Mercury, which was only visible a few times a year. He wheeled around and exclaimed, "Oh, and I'm blocking your light!" And then he drove away. While I was grocery shopping in Platte, I met eyes with a kind-faced woman in the produce aisle. She was probably about 50, and what came to mind was the assertion in Buddhism that all beings have been our mothers in past lives. That's what I felt or saw in her eyes: the regard of a mother. There was an exchange of smiles and then I walked out.
Friday: The wind didn't let up during the night, but we slept well. The view of clouds and water and rocks was pleasant. Mr Shaftcat seemed a bit thrown off by the wind and another locale. After a shower, it was off toward the reservation. I saw a flagger in the road soon after I crossed the river. It was the woman I'd seen in the grocery store the night before. I was the only person on the road and we talked about where we coming from: Me from Ohio, she and her family from Iowa, working on a road improvement project. I was pleased with this second interaction and thought how much she looked like the woman whose family I rented a space from in New Mexico. Two contractors pulled up and we were led over the ridge, through the paving zone, and then down into a plain that led toward the Rosebud reservation.
I stopped for gas on Rosebud. I don't know what it is that makes me think being in an Indian town is special, or that being around the people is different -- but that's what I think and feel. Perhaps it's the mistaken idea that I know something about the culture that most people don't, that certain sights and sounds and mannerisms are familiar. Perhaps I make associations with the time I spent in New Mexico. Perhaps it's simple exoticism. I don't know. I do know that I don't live there and don't have to contend with the problems of being in that culture within this culture. So what made me feel so pleased to be there?
Well, here is this resource, which I first read six years ago.
The BBC presented a story on the history   After two hours of winding past ranches, farms and three million sunflowers, I approached the road to Wounded Knee. A large, sky-blue metal sign stood at the intersection between Highway 18 and Route 27. It was perforated with bullet holes from the east and west. It was a monument to Crazy Horse, the war chief of the Oglala band after the Plains tribes were forced onto reservations in the 1870s. Graffiti and stencils surrounded the text, along with obvious scorch marks and the signatures of a man and a woman who repainted the sign several years ago. It took 10 or 15 minutes to read it all, and I thought it was unfortunate that the war, the bitterness, seems to continue. I got back into the van and drove to Wounded Knee, the central part of which lies inside the bend of a creek at the base of several low hills. Some women and children were sitting under a ramada near the road. A cemetery sat atop a hill to the west and a large roundhouse and several trailer homes were scattered to the north and east. Another monument described the events that took place before and during the deaths of more than 300 natives and soldiers in 1890, most of them killed by machine gun and cannon fire from the hilltop. The cemetery I mentioned was used as a mass grave. An older boy asked me to sign a guest register under the ramada. A teenage girl had a book with historical photos and correspondence about the incident. We talked for awhile and then I made my way over to the roundhouse, which was a visitor center run by old AIM members. I let Mr Shaftcat out of the carrier because of the heat. He snuck into the building a couple of times, though, so I put him back inside. I walked up to the cemetery, looked over the names of those who had been buried there, and then lit some incense. Then I prepared to leave. The van turned on for an instant and then everything went dead. No lights, no windows, no turn-over, clicks, dings, nothing. I had driven it up the hill 30 minutes earlier. And I had remembered to turn off the headlights. I took the cat out and began to troubleshoot. I knew it was an electrical problem and I began to check the terminals and leads. Some Lakota kids had been dropped off at the center and I decided to let them play with Mr Shaftcat next to the van. I went back to splicing and scraping for another hour, at least. There was no change, so I asked the woman inside about who I might be able to call to get service. At the same time, I wondered where I would go if I had to stay overnight.
I was told that the man who had dropped off the kids was down the road helping someone else. The woman said I could ask him to help when he was done. I walked down to the monument, and talked to the old timer whose car was in distress. It looked like the engine had vomited fluid all over the ground. The owner said it would go in reverse but not drive. I stood around for a few minutes, asked the other man for his assistance, and then walked around to inspect the local flora. The battery terminals were corroded, but I hadn't checked the right one. Within a few minutes, the van was running. I paid the man for his effort and got ready to leave. Except the cat wasn't around. I'd noticed that earlier but I thought he had just gone back into the roundhouse. The kids didn't know where he'd gone and he wasn't inside or under the van. So I scouted around the arroyos and treelines for an hour. Then I stood watch. And then I searched some more. As I said, rolling hills surrounded the creek. Tall, dry grass and sage covered the ground, which was open in all directions. We checked all the rooms in the roundhouse. I watched dogs walk through the grass, hoping to see them scare up the cat. Another hour went by and it was obvious that I wasn't going to find Mr Shaftcat unless he made himself seen. I knew I was going to have to leave. I got the number of the center, left the water and food bowls, and then drove toward Manderson. I felt ashamed and irresponsible to leave the cat in that unfamiliar territory. I felt relief that he would not have to endure the drive. I felt selfish for bringing him in the first place, when I might have been able to put him up in Grandview. I also laughed when I thought, "The cat just did a Ghost Dance." He was just not anywhere to be seen. I said prayers for his protection and care, and drove on across the Badlands toward Rapid City.
Saturday: I entered Wyoming sometime before midnight. I was tired and stressed but I wanted to make it up to Bear Lodge/Devil's Tower. This would have been the final destination on my ill-conceived Southwest Sci-Fi Driving Tour in '98. This time around, I just wanted to see it and make a time-lapse photo with Polaris in the background, a la this image or this one. My film scanner has never dealt well with dark slides, so this is the best I can show right now. I stood near the van listening to the void. I was able to take advantage of the late hour and the clear sky to view the galaxy in Andromeda, the Pleiades, the double stars in Lyra, the mountains on the waning moon... and the resolute, silent presence of the stone tower. The walls and chutes, dimly lit by the moon, looked so ominous through binoculars. I expected to see something emerge from the stone, to witness some kind of phenomena. I knew I didn't have the energy to go much farther. I could have stayed there until daybreak, but I packed up after an hour and drove toward Gillette. I went to sleep with fatigue and anxiety. I saw pink clouds on sea blue for a few seconds. I went back to sleep, curled up on top of the seats, and then I got up for good. My mind was agitated, but I also felt blank. I wanted to get underway. Unfortunately, I drove over a broken bolt when I pulled off the highway. The driver's tire was deflated. I hadn't even checked to see if I had the spare when I left, but I did. A rancher pulled over and asked if I needed help getting into Gillette. He asked me where I was from and when I said Ohio, he shook his head with a concerned smile and repeated "Oh, you're a long way from home, long way from home." The gentleman helped me mount the tire -- "Are those bolts on tight enough?" -- and then he went on his way. I rolled into Gillette and found a tire shop. I asked for a replacement but because there was so much going on, the guy thought I wanted a repair. When I brought the tire in, I found the bolt that killed it and saw that the tread was dangerously worn. A cowboy standing off to the side said something like "That tire ain't worth fixin', partner" and I thought, "Well, yeah, that's why I want to replace it." I was advised to "go have breakfast and take a tour of Gillette" since it would be a couple of hours. I ate pancakes and read the paper, bought groceries and had film processed. I received the replacement tire and refueled. Before I continued west toward Sheridan, I called Wounded Knee. The cat hadn't shown up.
The next stop was the Medicine Wheel National Historic Landmark, which is located on the western edge of the Bighorn Mountains. William had recommended that I go there when he read that I was going through other parts of Indian Country. Medicine Wheel is an ancient circular arrangement of stones and relics that is situated on a mesa at nearly 10,000 feet. An FAA radar facility is situated on the peak above the site.
The road up to mesa was graded gravel and dirt that wound its way up the ridge for a mile or more. I bumped and jostled along at 15 mph and then walked another mile to the site. Two photos are included, one of the path (on which a score of people roared by on ATVs) and one of the view to the northeast. There was no way to photograph anything other than the offerings and ribbons tied into the fence, and that didn't seem appropriate. I walked around the circle seven times, trying to focus on healing and whatever activity I might be able to undertake in that pursuit. Then I walked back down the path while a thunderstorm rumbled and flashed to the north.
I came down from the mountains feeling a bit better, even though my head hurt. The brakes were just the opposite: I had to stop a couple of times to let them cool off. I was almost in Montana when I pulled over to shoot another sunset. When the orange and crimson flame-out was done, I looked for another subject. I spotted Venus behind a magenta shroud and then I continued on.
I drove north until my head was aching -- it was from hunger -- and then I didn't feel like driving anymore. I searched for the closest campsite, which looked to be on the western edge of the Crow reservation. I double-backed, missed the turn, turned around and drove along what I thought would be a short trip from Edgar to Pryor and the campsite. It might have been a short distance, but the road was awful; continual ruts and rattling. I reached Pryor after an hour and the suspension was creaking. I found my destination, which was Chief Plenty Coups State Park. Unfortunately, it was a day-use only site. I walked around, sort of reeling and really wanting to get off the road. There was an evangelical revival churning along in a large tent next to the parking lot. I had wanted to avoid going to Billings and that's where I ended up going. The vibration from the front left wheel became worse. Just as I drove into the city, the wheel jerked and I heard metal scratching. I pulled over and saw that one of the bolts had shorn off. It hadn't been on tight enough, which is what the rancher near Gillette had asked.* I tightened the three that remained and then chilled out at Subway near I-90. Food helped. Aphex helped. I tried to find another campsite but had no luck. I went to sleep at another rest area. * - The spare was a full-sized tire. Sunday: Pink clouds and blue skies again. I stayed awake this time and cleaned myself up. I changed tires in Bozeman, where I bought a fourth lugnut for that wheel. I also picked up anti-corrosion pads for the battery, per the Lakota mechanic's suggestion. I was fortunate to find a NAPA store that was open (for another 15 minutes) that afternoon. The drive from there to Idaho was uneventful. Longer than I would have thought, too -- Montana is a large state.
I approached Coeur d'Alene ID just after sunset. I wanted to stop in Pullman WA the next day to visit my friend Tae-Hyun. So I drove south on Highway 95, headed for Mary M. McCroskey State Park. The road wound through the Coeur d'Alene reservation. I was curious about what was growing in the fields on either side of the road. In the darkness, I could see a uniformly light shade to the horizon. The texture seemed sculpted. I began to think that I'd missed a turn when I saw a sign for the park. The road got really shaky -- monstrous potholes for five miles. I had to drive around 20 mph and turn and dodge like I was navigating around mines. The potholes were just about as dangerous, they were so deep. After that came more graded dirt, and I sincerely hoped that I wasn't about to find another day-use park. What I found was actually a treasure. The park had very few facilities, no trash containers and no water. Its "Skyline Drive" was just a wide, needle-covered path. Its rustic quality and the difficulty of access cut down on use. Camping was allowed wherever you could find a flat spot. I drove for a few hundred yards and then searched for such a spot. I turned off the flashlight for awhile and took in the most amazing view of dark sky above the pines. The wind that blew through the trees was alive -- it had a voice and a presence that made me feel anxious at first, then aware that there was a conscious energy around me. In the park brochure, Virgil McCroskey, who tended the land on his own into his 90s*, is quoted: "This forest is inhabited by silent and benevolent spirits. I can work alone in this park, where I spend most of my waking hours, and not see another human being, and never be lonely."
* - The 4400-acre park was named after his mother. Monday: The image of grasses and trees was the view outside that morning. Yarrow, thistle, chamomile, mullein and scores of other plants that I barely recognized grew wild along the ridge. It was an enchanting place. I drove back down the road -- the easiest route I could have taken, I now see -- and I saw a bear cub sauntering 100 yards ahead. When it realized there was a vehicle coming, it bolted into the trees. "Wow, I just saw a bear...!" So bears were in the forest.
I drove toward Moscow ID, which is a stone's throw from Pullman. The mystery crop from the previous night was wheat. The whole terrain had a smooth, blond surface. The change of scenery in Pullman was sort of abrupt. Tae-Hyun wasn't home and I decided to go down to the Snake River on a whim. This put me on another dusty, shaky road (which I could have avoided if I had understood the signs). I drove along the river canyon back to Pullman, tried Tae-Hyun again, and then began the final leg to Spokane and Seattle. I can't say a lot about eastern Washington. The sun was overhead, there was more traffic than I had encountered in days, and it was fairly flat. The scenery was immense near the Wenatchee Mountains because the highway ran along and then over a river-fed lake. The Cascades came into view some time afterward... along with clouds. And then I felt rain for the first time in weeks. It was a welcome sensation. The mountains were enveloped in fog. The rain became heavier but people still drove like it was flat and dry. The winding, fast pace continued for some time and then there were office buildings and franchises and hotels and then a tunnel. And then Seattle, with houses stacked right up to the lake, which was a few shades of grey darker than the sky. Five minutes later, I was downtown and I watched throngs of people leave a Mariners game or Bumbershoot or both. That same sense of familiarity came to mind, although I had only been gone 10 days. This was five days more than I'd anticipated but it felt like I was right on time. I was able to get a bed in the hostel (albeit above the deck where people joked and gabbed well past midnight). Tuesday until today: I looked and felt a bit rough the next morning. I went to the wrong school at first. I saw kids and parents lined up at a big ivory school on 19th... right street, wrong block. I began to check out housing and find good food. I trespassed into the Nalandabodhi center in the University District and met a couple of the residents. One of them was the translator for a Tibetan teacher who I encountered in New York in April. I eventually settled in Ballard, "the Brooklyn of Seattle," where I lived in a house that had been a Zen center until July. I had several sub-tropical plants growing in my little room, I began work on a series of photomontage nudes, I read Black Elk Speaks and the complete Nausicaa manga... and I parted with the van.
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