it's been almost a month since i left you in milwaukee. well, i've been pretty slack about updating this thing lately. guess i'm just excited about going home... fuck yeah.
did ride a train out of wisconsin, except it stoppped to unload at some big factory thing about a third of the way to chicago, so i crept out from under the bridge that made our roof and left the others to the dusty dawn. hopped on a commuter train and down to the airport. well, i'd just been paid for some old zines (sticky came thru with perfect timing) so i managed to talk my way onto a discount flight and over to LAX, where i slept under the neon palm trees and mysteriously got bitten by more bugs than i have in any woods. mum and i caught the amtrak up to san francisco and had a great week wandering around sampling the international cuisine, galleries, gaytown sights and omnipresent fog through which alcatraz loomed occasionally. we saw some red poles that may or may not have been the golden gate bridge. we told stories about our travels, so i've got some practice in now and maybe i won't just wander around saying 'see blog.'
after mum left i headed over to berkeley and hung out in an 11yo punk squat with some lovely folks. managed to manifest a mission up to clearlake, 3 hours north of the bay, for a 3-day pirate punk festival. ah, there was drinkin' and aaarghin' and campfires and shootin' and grazin' of the knee... the SAME devil child i wrestled in asheville won my hat in a swordfight... so in need of a musical instrument i played a case of wine... i even managed to catch some of the bands between mudfights. the standout was resistant culture, an awesome tribal/crust band of first nation extraction... that and dancing to MJ on crack. in the woods.
the kids from tucson i met in berkeley that were driving up to portland in a 1976 VW bus came to pick me up. we left monday morning, all set to go on a mission to the lake and swim... made it about half a mile down the dirt road before the bus set all its little wiring amelt. so we waited for a passing car for a couple of hours, tucson playing guitar and me playing the bike, and ended up getting towed to a wal-mart carpark in lower lake where we tried to sell the faltered vehicle. as a car, it made a nice house... after 24 tweaker-visited hours (in which i made myself a new hat) we were out on the highway, hitching north.
i ditched tucson on the road the next morning, thinking i'd make it faster on my own. the youth of america were sweet and all but the bongos were getting to me. so i got a ride with turtle the hippy, who decided to go to portland with me, despite the fact that he had no money for gas. we stopped to watch elk in an elk reserve and drink coffee, and we drove through the famous redwoods of northern california. up a ways turtle met one of the famous weed-growers of norhtern california and ended up getting himself a business deal, so i was back on my own. up the road after a few short rides i got picked up by a dude who was going all the way to portland. he seemed kinda creepy and i couldn't work out why... we were talking about serial killers as you do while hitchiking and i suddenly got The Fear in a spine chilling rush, had no idea why. the guy had freaked earlier when i'd been telling freight train amputation stories (How Johnny No-Thumbs Got His Name, &c) and i was a little weirded. well, we stopped for a cigarette break about an hour later and i noticed he had only one hand. so there you go.
still couldn't shake the feeling this guy wasn't all there though, so i hopped off in eugene, oregon and sat down in the park, wondering what to do next. it was dusk, i was exhausted... there was an open boxcar pulling slowly away across the street... fuck it, why not. i ate a supper of blackberries and raided the community garden for salad before bedding down for the night by the railway crossing, hoping another train would stop. they did, but very briefly, and i managed to miss all of them, so in the morning i went in search of a little more information and the yard. By midnight i was clambering into a nice boxcar bed of cold steel.
portland is nice. i'm staying with some of the loveliest people i have ever met, which kind of annoys me at this point in the adventure, but they'll move to australia. we're diggin up the garden, so i'll be all buff by the time i make it back to sydney. in thirteen days' time.
while diggin up the yard i found a bit of pipe with a hole in it and threw it into a corner... ten minutes later i found another bit. hang on, what's this? the third bit proved it. i dug up a recorder. the musical instrument i was trying to manifest appeared in the form of buried treasure. now i *have* to start that pirate band. who's up for it?
did ride a train out of wisconsin, except it stoppped to unload at some big factory thing about a third of the way to chicago, so i crept out from under the bridge that made our roof and left the others to the dusty dawn. hopped on a commuter train and down to the airport. well, i'd just been paid for some old zines (sticky came thru with perfect timing) so i managed to talk my way onto a discount flight and over to LAX, where i slept under the neon palm trees and mysteriously got bitten by more bugs than i have in any woods. mum and i caught the amtrak up to san francisco and had a great week wandering around sampling the international cuisine, galleries, gaytown sights and omnipresent fog through which alcatraz loomed occasionally. we saw some red poles that may or may not have been the golden gate bridge. we told stories about our travels, so i've got some practice in now and maybe i won't just wander around saying 'see blog.'
after mum left i headed over to berkeley and hung out in an 11yo punk squat with some lovely folks. managed to manifest a mission up to clearlake, 3 hours north of the bay, for a 3-day pirate punk festival. ah, there was drinkin' and aaarghin' and campfires and shootin' and grazin' of the knee... the SAME devil child i wrestled in asheville won my hat in a swordfight... so in need of a musical instrument i played a case of wine... i even managed to catch some of the bands between mudfights. the standout was resistant culture, an awesome tribal/crust band of first nation extraction... that and dancing to MJ on crack. in the woods.
the kids from tucson i met in berkeley that were driving up to portland in a 1976 VW bus came to pick me up. we left monday morning, all set to go on a mission to the lake and swim... made it about half a mile down the dirt road before the bus set all its little wiring amelt. so we waited for a passing car for a couple of hours, tucson playing guitar and me playing the bike, and ended up getting towed to a wal-mart carpark in lower lake where we tried to sell the faltered vehicle. as a car, it made a nice house... after 24 tweaker-visited hours (in which i made myself a new hat) we were out on the highway, hitching north.
i ditched tucson on the road the next morning, thinking i'd make it faster on my own. the youth of america were sweet and all but the bongos were getting to me. so i got a ride with turtle the hippy, who decided to go to portland with me, despite the fact that he had no money for gas. we stopped to watch elk in an elk reserve and drink coffee, and we drove through the famous redwoods of northern california. up a ways turtle met one of the famous weed-growers of norhtern california and ended up getting himself a business deal, so i was back on my own. up the road after a few short rides i got picked up by a dude who was going all the way to portland. he seemed kinda creepy and i couldn't work out why... we were talking about serial killers as you do while hitchiking and i suddenly got The Fear in a spine chilling rush, had no idea why. the guy had freaked earlier when i'd been telling freight train amputation stories (How Johnny No-Thumbs Got His Name, &c) and i was a little weirded. well, we stopped for a cigarette break about an hour later and i noticed he had only one hand. so there you go.
still couldn't shake the feeling this guy wasn't all there though, so i hopped off in eugene, oregon and sat down in the park, wondering what to do next. it was dusk, i was exhausted... there was an open boxcar pulling slowly away across the street... fuck it, why not. i ate a supper of blackberries and raided the community garden for salad before bedding down for the night by the railway crossing, hoping another train would stop. they did, but very briefly, and i managed to miss all of them, so in the morning i went in search of a little more information and the yard. By midnight i was clambering into a nice boxcar bed of cold steel.
portland is nice. i'm staying with some of the loveliest people i have ever met, which kind of annoys me at this point in the adventure, but they'll move to australia. we're diggin up the garden, so i'll be all buff by the time i make it back to sydney. in thirteen days' time.
while diggin up the yard i found a bit of pipe with a hole in it and threw it into a corner... ten minutes later i found another bit. hang on, what's this? the third bit proved it. i dug up a recorder. the musical instrument i was trying to manifest appeared in the form of buried treasure. now i *have* to start that pirate band. who's up for it?
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