GOING HOME ( PART 4 – LOS ANGELES)

I got really drunk. Not sloppy, but sad drunk. I had a thirty case of beer and a fridge full of food that I had just bought the day before about to go to waste. I got drunk and made sandwiches all night for the road. Tears rolled down my face and I couldn’t help but to let myself cry a bit. I was aching with confusion, anger, loneliness; nowhere to go, no home. I didn’t even have my dogs with me.

I waited around staring off into the desert toward the highway the next day. A few hours before sundown Donny pulled up in his truck and I threw my bags in the backseat.

Donny dropped me off in a Vons parking lot. I opened the back door of his truck to pull out my trash bag full of groceries and beer and found the seat half empty. In my rush to clean out I left a trash bag full of groceries outside my camper. The only bag I brought with me was filled with cans of beer sandwiches chips and bananas. It was all I’d need for the road anyway, but the thought of leaving behind $70 dollars worth of food after the meager check they cut me really stung. I found a shopping cart, threw my things in and said goodbye.

Night fell quickly as I left the parking lot, pushing my shopping cart full of beer cans and sandwiches across the sidewalks of Rock Springs, Wyoming. I had nowhere to go, no home; felt like a bum. Faces in cars turned their heads and stared. I kept walking, staring at the floor, listening to the rattle of the cart bump over sidewalk cracks. I walked until I found an empty lot and rolled out my sleeping bag. I lit a Djarum cigarette out of the pack Donny had bought himself to quell the stress of this blow out, but gave to me out of pity, seeing my dejection. I sat awhile drinking a can of beer behind a big thorny bush, listening to the thrum of traffic roar down I-80.I finished my beer and walked over to a Mcdonalds to send my girlfriend Jo an email telling her I’d be headed for California the next day. I walked back over to the lot, ate a couple of sandwiches which had grown soggy, and went to bed.

I woke up before sunrise and drank beer, waiting for Mcdonalds to open so I could check to see if Jo responded to my email. She did.

She said:

I’m really sorry it all went down that way. I really am. I wish there was more I could say to make you feel better. I don’t have anything to say that is going to make things better for you only worse. I honestly don’t think you should come back yet. I don’t think it would be a good thing for either of us. I love you very much. I just can’t do this right now. I need time to myself. I’m sorry Jeffo.

I’d felt the sentiment coming the last week or two. She was tired of me leaving. A future with me was unpredictable. That’s the truth.

And so I sat there: without a girlfriend, a job; without a home – all I had was a backpack and nowhere to go.

I walked out of Mcdonalds tired, sad, confused – when I felt a big grin slowly growing in me. I was free. Free to roam, attached to nothing. It happened just like that, in an instant, it felt like I had suddenly harnessed the warmth and power of the morning sun. I began to smile.

I walked back to the lot and grabbed my things. The next lucky sucker to sleep there would find a garbage bag filled with beer, something like eighteen cans. I couldn’t keep carrying it with me. I packed up, ate a soggy sandwich and made for the onramp. I didn’t wait long either before a young Mormon kid pulled over and I hopped in. He drove me about 500 miles clear to St. George, Utah – the longest ride to date. He even drove me an extra 40 miles further than his destination. I thanked him, a thousand thank yous! And walked into the old McDonalds on Bluff where I seem to find myself on almost every trip. I scanned the booths for Ron and Hal.

Hal set me up at his house, let me shower, gave me a camper to sleep in out back. The camper was infested with fleas, and I spent a lot of the night scratching myself like a speed freak. I thought it was just the blanket making me itch, but I woke up with glowing pink bites all over my body looking like I had chicken pox. Ron came by and picked me up early in the morning and dropped me off at a Pilots truck stop. I was looking for a straight shot to LA. I decided to get back to LA and stay at my cousin’s house to catch my bearings while I figured out what to do next.

I didn’t have any luck at Pilots and in fact I never have luck getting out of St. George any other way than on a greyhound, though I always try hitching for a few hours any way. Around noon I bought a greyhound ticket to Vegas and split a few hours later.

I stepped off the greyhound in Vegas and was blasted by a fiery heat from the pits of hell. There was no escaping – Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, California – It was the hottest month recorded in the history of the US. I shuffled out of the station on the double, headed towards the Chinese bus pick up spot. As the road would have it I was stopped by a guy in his car asking for directions who ended up inviting me to have a few beers with him. A fellow traveler (also raised in the San Gabriel Valley). I was hesitant to hop in his car at first, something about him gave off a weird vibe. But as I was talking to him in his driver side window he pulled out this photo album of his travels all over the world, so that made me more relaxed. I hopped in.

The guy’s name was Gary. A friendly portly mustachioed man with a jovial voice and beady eyes. Prone to smiling and laughter. He decided that we would head to his house to have a few beers. No biggie. I told him as long as I was back in a few hours for that Chinese bus everything was cool. “Ohhh. I didn’t know you had to catch the bus tonight. Well, I don’t think you’re going to make it tonight if we’re going to drink, but i have an extra bed and you can stay the night”

Well, I would’ve rather be on that bus home than with Gary but I was already headed toward his house so I went with it. He showed me around his place – many rooms, and statues and paintings and beautiful souvenirs from all sorts of different countries he’s visited. He went to the fridge and grabbed a couple of Old English tall cans, whoa, bum beer, what? I told him I was suprised that he drinks the same beer I used to drink when I was a drunk punk in sketchy alleys as a teenager. He claimed it was the best beer he’s tasted around the world. Hmmm. Well, it’s not bad ice cold, for bum beer, and it does the job nice and quick. We cracked open our beers and poured em into glasses outside Gary’s patio (where I kept being shushed and quieted because my voice was too loud for the neighbor, a cop, kinda weird, but the whole thing was a little weird from the start). Gary was trying to dig, asking me what I like to talk about, politics, religion, life, what? I can’t just start talking heavy on command so I just talk about my own travels and personal life and girlfriend, etc.

I started to get drunk. My voice got louder. I kept getting shushed. I was annoyed at the shushing. I asked to use the restroom. “Man, I’m a lot drunker than I should be”. I came back, cracked another beer. Apparently the etiquette when drinking is to both start drinking at the same time and for the guest not to stop drinking until his hosts puts his glass down. I was already too buzzed for this but I tried anyway, making me drunk in the end. And this is when Gary confessed that he is gay. Okay. Fine. Cool. I never would’ve guessed, but I knew something was weird about all this anyway. But I’m straight (already had big conversation about girlfriend). He asked me if I’ve ever questioned whether I’d like to be with a man. Nope. I like women. Ahh. Shame. “You’re such a handsome man”. Well thank you.

He didn’t push the gay thing too hard after that and we returned to normal conversation though he seemed disappointed. The last thing I remember was agreeing to go to church with him the next morning, just for a kick.

And then I’m woke up in an unknown room hungover as all get out at 4 am or so (with all my clothes still on and shoes) laying on my stomach dry mouthed, head throbbing, and stumbled to the restroom to piss wondering what the fuck happened. I didn’t drink enough to black out yet I did, and still to this day I wonder if it was the bum beer we chugged or if he slipped something in my glass.

I fell back asleep and woke up again after 7 am to Gary making noise in his own room, getting ready, and I was still reeling from the night before. I wasn’t going to church with him is all I know. And when I finally walked out of the room to greet him I let him know as much, but he didn’t push the subject. I told him I was too hungover and I didn’t remember going to bed, and he didn’t remember how he got to bed either somehow, so apparently we both got fucked up.

He drove me to the Chinese bus stop and gave me his phone number. We didn’t talk much in the car, but it was a friendly hungover awkward goodbye anyway. I never did keep in touch with him, but he was a sort of cool dude, aside from his sneaky gay trick.

The chinese bus stop was in the parking lot of a casino, maybe Harrahs. I sat at a bench outside of the bus talking to a philipino lady who was so friendly and interested in my pack and story and tried to find me work with a cross country truck driver she knew, and later during the bus ride bought me dried seaweed as a snack. Also called me two weeks later to let me know that she wasn’t able to get me work with that cross country truck driver, very nice lady.

The Chinese bus experience is much more pleasant and easy going than the Greyhound bus experience. The greyhound experience is weary and like being dragged through mud; across stones, and stared at all the while with a disinterested indifferent look by the greyhound workers. It’s only some of the baggage loaders who seem to be the most convivial. The greyhound workers are all beat same as the greyhound riders. Why is it such a beat ride and workplace? It doesn’t have to be that way. Rules against laying on the floor at 2 am waiting through a four hour layover and can’t even catch a few shitty z’s in the bright station lights on the floor. And they don’t just wake you up but kick you with their boot barking orders to get up. I guess it’s because most all greyhound stations are in the skid row parts of town and the workers are used to kicking the poor tired homeless trying to catch some shelter in the station. Bah!

Don’t have a pre-purchased ticket for the Chinese bus? No worries, buy one on the spot, no fees! They smile and thank you when you give them your cash. Plenty of space to stretch and recline inside the bus which is air conditioned and quiet aside from occasional Chinese conversations taking place – a smooth ride through the windy Nevada desert, joshua trees , and eventually over mountain pass in San Bernardino and on down through cities all the way home.

It was an odd feeling I had. I felt like a stranger coming back through the residential streets of my Chinese neighborhoods; uneasy, weary, smoking. I felt like a stranger in the city I grew up in. What business did I have coming back other than to hurry the few miles to my cousin’s place while the afternoon walkers and lawn waterers stared at me.

I stayed on my cousin’s couch for a week before I found myself a studio in Alhambra. It was another month before Jo and I reunited (inevitably). She picked me up early Sunday morning, about 2 AM, the both of us drunk (I was drunk for weeks on bum beer in my studio, finally staring at my face in the mirror in horror, the bloated drunken puffy tired eyed face). She took me back to her house. We laid in the dark kissing. It was good to have her back in my arms. It was good to bury my face in the crook of her neck and kiss it, the scent of her.

She went straight from bed to jail the next morning. She woke up to police banging at her door with a warrant for her arrest. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. They cuffed her in her pajamas, no bra, and put her in back of the cop car crying. Her warrant was for an unpaid DUI ticket. I went to see her in court the next day. The judge sentenced her to 100 days. She stood up there chained to three other girls by the wrists and ankles. Before they shuffled out she turned to me with watery red rimmed eyes and waved goodbye from her cuffs behind her back, pale, skinny and tired. She couldn’t even see me or anything, as they took her without her glasses. I’ll never forget that goodbye, the image of it breaks my heart. That was my little girl up there about to be locked in a cage. I hung my head and walked out.

Not to end the story on a sad note, but this is where the story ends nonetheless. I visited her in the Women’s correctional facility and talked with her on a phone through glass, with her father next to me. The jails in California are filled to the brim and minor offenders never serve their full sentence. She was out in 10 or 12 days and we continued on with our lives.

GOATS ( PART 3 – COLORADO AND WYOMING)

I spent most of the day looking for a betterluck rideshare to Grand Junction. I was really pretty happy despite my lack of sleep, being late for work, headache of a rideshare, uncertainty in further trip plans, etc. I was glad to start fresh out of Sanjay’s car. I didn’t end up getting any rideshare responses so I decided to take the greyhound. To kill time I drank $1 beers at a Mexican titty bar.

They weren’t the best looking women by a stretch though it was noon on a Thursday and the bar had only just opened. There were only three other guys in there, Mexican guys in a group all smiley bright eyed dishing out singles and buying lap dances. I checked my pack in with the front doorman who didn’t even so much as look at me and walked into the dingy dark stale dungeon, room, ranchero music playing in the background, ordered myself a beer lit a cig and sat at the bar staring at tits and asses and occasionally a UFC match on t.v. One of the strippers walked up to me for a chat but her main goal was to get me to buy her beer, which she eventually flat out asked, “Can you buy me a beer?” and I said, “I don’t have any money, I’m a poor hitchhiker” though I could have spared an extra $1 for her beer but her big belly told me she needed a break from free beer.

(If that would have been the case now I would’ve bought her a beer and gave her a smoke just to sit and chat her up, see what kinda story I could get outta her)

I split after I had my fill of tits and beer and walked a couple miles to the greyhound station passing dozens of homeless men and women lounging in the shade in the 100 degree weather. The greyhound trip was something like 10 hours. We stopped in St. George Utah at the Mcdonalds on Bluff and I ran into Ron and Hal, these old timers I’d met on my last Oregon trip a month prior. They were caught off guard like they’d seen a ghost and had to do a double take when I walked in (with a big smile) before they finally realized I was real and lit up. They didn’t know that they’d ever see me again, and so soon! Ha! I only had five minutes to chat before the bus took off so we spoke fast! And excited! (Hal is too old for fast excitement, he just sat there all watery-eyed slow and quiet with a big old grin). I ran out just as fast as I ran in, almost feeling like – well I’m sure they felt like, “did that just happen?”

And on with the show. We stopped in Cedar City, Parowan, Green River and at each stop half of the bus would get up cigarette deprived and fiending to huddle together outside and smoke and cackle at jokes in their jittery weariness. I never did catch any sleep on the bus. My neighbor, nice as he was, was a chatterbox and wouldn’t stop talking – nonetheless I can never sleep on the greyhound anyway. We got to grand Junction at 1:30 AM, it took me a short ten minute walk before I found an abandoned house with a nice backyard to lay out my sleeping bag. 42 hours of travel hangups and anticipation and I finally slept.

I woke up with the sunrise as always on the road and spent the morning wandering around aimlessly. After a few miles I found a City Market and bought all kinds of replenishments: bananas, avocados, protein bars, a roasted chicken – spent about an hour eating, waiting for Donny to pick me up (who didn’t mind at all that I was a day late). He showed up in a big hulking grey Ford pickup, stood standing outside of it – six foot two, 180 lbs solid sure confident workingman posture young 28 yrs old blue jeaned beige tshirted with working boots ballcap and sunglasses so dark I couldn’t see his eyes, non emotive face. Under his glasses blue eyes and under his hat short dark blonde hair, complexion light with red sunburned tint and skin thick, lined, wrinkled in places around his eyes from weather too much sun and hard work.

I said, “How’s it going, I’m Jeff” and shook his hand.
He didn’t say much other than, “Cool, lets get going”.

Donny’s goat herding operation is called Goat Green. They work contracts with Chevron and have the goats (1500 of them) come in to fire prone regions of the oil fields and eat up specific weeds which serve as fire fuel. The goats are enclosed in heavy fire fuel areas by an electric fence, which failed to stop them from breaking out more often than not. They remain enclosed long enough to eat the weeds, shit on the ground, and trample the shit into the Earth, fertilizing it to make it healthier land. He explained this to me as we drove to an outdoorsmen store. I had to buy Carhart fire resistant jeans, work shirt and steel toed boots. $300 out of my first check right off the bat.

We headed past a little nowhere town called Debeque and up into the canyon.

I met the dogs first – Pip, Zip, Flint, Banjo, and a 3 legged dog sweetheart named Kit. All energetic and friendly obedient Border Collies. Pip and Banjo were sister and brother, black and brown and white with a white stripe down the nose. Pip was a sleek sexy dog, reminded me of a fox. Banjo was her twin only less fox like.

Zip had a black and white coat, a thick alpha dog with piercing white blue eyes, very smart wizard dog.

Flint was my dog, a male, tuxedo patterned, the newest of the dogs, the youngest, and the least likely to listen to the proper commands out of young dog excitement to run and work.

And Kit as I said was an all black 3 legged sweetheart female dog. I met Donny’s mom Lani next. She was walking through sage brush removing a section of electric fence, bleeding from a cut on her face. She was portly with a ruddy complexion, blonde hair, icey blue eyes and a great smile.

I got to work immediately – pulling out fence, learning how to tight and neatly roll and tie it, learning how to stab the fence spikes into the dry hard packed rocky ground without breaking them. I was almost shocked right out of my skin when I heard the goats. They sounded just like humans! The way cats can sometimes sound like babies. It was a very eerie thing to hear for the first time and I immediately developed the belief that goats were somehow humans souls trapped in a sort of goat hell

They had three trailers parked in a clearing in the canyon – one for Donny, Lani, and Me. We always spent time together after the work day drinking a few beers – and those beers were the most refreshing beers I’ve ever had simply due to the fact that beer is well deserved and goes down best after a hard sweaty day laboring under the sun – we’d then eat some delicious meal that Lani cooked up and talk until the sky filled with stars before Donny walked to his trailer and I walked to mine.

In the morning I’d walk over to Lani’s camper and, Lani and Donny already having been awake a few hours to check on the goats, have coffee and talk about the day ahead of us which was always me starting the day by watching the goats laze in the sun until they were warm and started to stir, and it was always one goat to stand up and start baaaaing like saying ” hey, why don’t we get the fuckoutta here?” and a couple of his goat buddies think “Yeah, Bill’s right. I’m fuckin’ hungry, let’s leave” before the whole heard got up and stirred and baaaa’ed restlessly.

At that point I’d open up the fence and let the goats out and herd them to the next square of land to be trod and trampled and eaten.

The herding commands were Go by, Away, and Easy – meaning herd them left, right, or ease up on the current command. And sometimes Get Im if you wanted your dog to bite the ass of a straggler. Hup Hup Hup to get your dog to hurry and jump into the truck bed. Once the goats were all out and chewing on their weeds I’d go in and disassemble the fence, roll it up, and fence in the goats at their new spot. They’d eat for a few hours and then sit in their new enclosure chewing their cud while they cooled off in the shade.

And that was essentially the job. Eat weeds, shit, trample the earth, and onto the next. There was a lot of down time, watching and waiting, hanging with the dogs, staring at the sky.

That’s not to say the goats didn’t do whatever they pleased whenever they pleased. It was often the case that I’d drive over to check on the goats and their enclosure would be empty and portions of the fence trampled over and broken and you’d look up and see a herd of a thousand goats scaling the canyon.

So I’d have to clomp across the slippery shale with broken feet from steel toe boats, up the canyon, tromp along with my dogs overheating in the triple digit temperatures trying to herd the goats back into a swirling mass of black and white and brown and grey horned heads all headed in one direction, down.

We had to watch out for cougars

and wrangle the nannys (mama goats) that would abandon their babies and tie them down so that they could bond with their babies

I drove around the canyon in a little white Japanese truck.

It was a stick shift and it was my first time learning how to drive stick shift. It didn’t take long, but I don’t think I ever got it down as smooth as I should have. I also had to sit on the right side to drive which was a little weird at first. It was good fun though, tugging along the canyon early in the morning with my dogs in the truck bed watching me drive through the side view mirrors, sometimes raising my fingers to say hello to the occasional passing chevron worker in his truck.

In the end I went crazy in that canyon, it was so dusty and arid, picking black boogers of death from my nose and squinting with dry cracked eyes. I’d go crazy and yell at flies and gnats buzzing circles around my head like a racetrack. I wanted to set myself on fire.

We worked in Colorado for a month before heading to Table Rock Wyoming where Donny and me had a blowout.

The process was the same in Table Rock, only the regulations were lax and we didn’t have to wear fire resistant anything or hardhats. The terrain was mostly flat as far as the eye can see, the ground, dry and cracked all over, was scattered with hardy green purple sage brush that would snag the fence all up as I unrolled it. It was beautiful desert though, especially when it rained – Great big apocalyptic thunder clouds would roll in along with the thunder and the wind would start whipping so that the scent of sage would fill the air and as it rained the twisted haunted gnarly sage turned a dark purplegreen, very tim burton like and everything was grey and you could see pink lightning blasting off inside of clouds in the distance. We had antelope, badgers, jack rabbits, and wild horses roaming about – no bugs. The sky was a great powder blue and a pleasure to stare at as the fat fluffy white cotton clouds floated by.

As I said, the process with the goats was the same as in Colorado so I’ll fast forward to my last day working for Goat Green.

Donny lost his temper and told me to leave. I didn’t set up the battery which is supposed to charge the electric fence to keep the goats from escaping by shocking them. Well the battery doesn’t – the electric shock they get doesn’t dissuade them from breaking through the fence. They break out whether the battery is set or not.

So what happened was (as written in my journal at the time):

I put the goats in their fence last night (no battery) and they were out in the morning – no biggie because they are Always out in the morning. Donny knows this. So I spent the morning taking down the old fence and setting up a new one before going out to find the goats. Well it turned out Donny found the goats while he was driving down the road, so he had to herd my goats back and I have no idea why he didn’t just go get me to do it. I guess that made him mad (everything makes him mad). When I finally stumbled across Donny he yelled at me about the battery, the goats bring out and the goats apparently being thirsty.
While he was yelling at me I cut in
“What’s your deal man? The goats are out every morning whether we have a battery or not”. “I don’t care. There should always be a battery”.
“I went two weeks without a battery and I kept telling you I needed one and you didn’t do anything about it, why are you making this a big deal?”.
“I was too busy. The point is you’re not doing your job”.
“Too busy?!…too busy to switch me a battery? I am doing my job!”
“Then why the hell are the goats at the old water tank thirsty?!?!”
“I filled their new tanks with water, they have water I don’t know why they went that way”

He began to get very angry about the fact that I was “arguing back”, but all I was doing – and I was very calm about it – all I was doing was defending my position. He ended up telling me that I was just another employee and who was I to argue and in the saddest tone ever I told him, “Man you’re a dick”, and he told me to hitchhike home. He hopped in his truck and drove off blowing all kinds of dust in my face.

It was a real bummer because I gave him my all. For the most part I guess. I felt like Donny and his mom were family and we both treated eachother as such. The comment about me being just another employee really stung. And it was truly a bummer because I hadn’t been paid at all, and in fact the only time pay was mentioned was in an email before I had ever showed up. After working with Donny and his mom for a week I didn’t worry about pay and never brought it up. For one, I didn’t even need the money yet and two they seemed like very nice people and I figured I’d get a lump check at the end of the contract. So young and dumb. There I stood in the dust, fired, having worked a summer for free.

I packed my bags as soon as I got back to my camper. I was hoping he would reconsider and the whole thing would blow over. I was hoping his mom would talk sense into him. Boy was I wrong. Donny and his mom showed up late that night in their truck, very solemn, almost as if I was going to be executed right there in the desert. She was calm with a mona lisa smirk as she ripped into me about showing up like some hotshot from LA thinking I knew how to run the whole goat herding operation and how I don’t know shit about goats or the dogs and that neither of the two had any respect for me. She called me all types of stupid and told me to shut up everytime I tried to cut in with some sort of defense or explanation. She ripped into me harder than I ripped into Sanjay, only Sanjay deserved it. Her comment about me trying to run the operation was really due to me trying to take initiative with methods that would streamline my operation throughout the day in order to get maximum effect with minimal time. In the end she told me that she had wanted to fire me since the last contract. All the while I was under the impression that I was a great hand and just about a family member through comments they had made to me. It seemed to me that they were feeding me a bunch of bullshit, but I stood there being crushed over and over again anyway. And finally she handed me my check and drove off.

When I walked back into my camper and looked it over it was 2 thousand dollars shorter than I expected.

The Sanjay story (Part 2 – Las Vegas)

My trip to Colorado began a failure. I was desperate for a ride and ready to work, so I took the first (craigslist) ride offer with a guy my age named Sanjay.

Our email exchange as follows:

Sanjay: saw your ad. heading to colorado. im in santa ana, ca, although i can come pick you up. i drive a 97 sooby outback. i cruise this land. please be 420 friendly and chill. split gas half and half. thanks . cya

Jeff: How far into Colorado are you headed and how much are you asking for gas? Also, what time you plan on leaving tonight/tomorrow?

Sanjay: heading out as soon as i get someone on board.

Jeff: sound’s good dude. how much gas money are you looking for?

Sanjay: total cost is 135.80 dollars. so half of 136 is 68 dollars. for 68 dollars, i can get you there.

p.s. you ok with 420? etc.?

Jeff: Yeah. When do you wanna split?

Sanjay: prolly right now, lets roll man

Jeff: We’ll be getting in about 5 or 6 am? Would you rather take off early tomorrow morning – say 6 or 7 am?

Sanjay: tryin to get outta here asap my man. tomm is one day too late

Jeff: No problemo man. My address is 313 monson lane, san gabriel, ca

Sanjay: i can get you where you’re at. its all due north anyways. but before i get you, i just kinda wanted to clear the air regarding gas and stuff since sometimes it can get sticky. ill take you up there, but can you fill up the first 68, then ill do the next 68.

Sanjay: hey man if i smoke you down all through out the trip, and man, i got some very good nugs. can you buy me some java monster drinks. they keep me up. can you get me a java vanilla drink? also i like to run at night, so i just post up and run.

Jeff: I won’t be smokin on the trip, but I can snag you a drink. Hell maybe I’ll run too

Sanjay: yea run with me. that would make my trip. doesnt need to be serious. just a nice 6 miler. 1 hour. maybe less. idk, its so fun. and, thanks for snaggin a drink.

…so I figured things might be odd when he told me we had to leave that very day (it being late in the afternoon already and us fixing on a 12 hour trip), the midnight6milerun, the general way he wrote, and at one point over the phone he mentioned eating mushrooms (which he called boomers) and hanging out under the stars in Utah (a good time in any other case but this one, and no time for it anyway) – well what could I do? I had no other options. I bought myself a couple of 40 oz bottles of beer got a little drunk and waited.

He showed up to my place in his station wagon with bedroll pillow clothes guitar longboard and amplifier in the back – this dark skinned IndiaIndian/Mexican short dirty looking kid in baggy dirty bum clothes (khaki – torn khaki pants and stained greywhite 5-day-old tshirt) with low happy stoner eyes, tangled wavy thick Jim Morrison hair and the charming perennial grin of a great con artist. Personality wise he was a sort of stoner burnout hippydippy stereotype (talks like everything is groovy karmic carefree (which I dig as true, though this guy was an idiot…you’ll see), asked me if I had any food, snacks, weed (which my fridge is always empty, he got nothing outta me). I realized the kid was on the skids and was glad I drank those beers because I knew the trip would turn out strange.

Before we hit the road, outside of my apartment, he took big blasts off the pipe (must’ve smoked an 8th all 12 hours I was with him). The first thing we did was hit a gas station close to my place and I filled the tank ($40 worth) to get us to Vegas. This is where I learned the term gas jugging. What he does is carry a 5 gallon gas can, pulls up to gas stations all grimy-like (as he most certainly is on the regular) and asks nice looking strangers if they can, “help out with a little bit of gas, anything will help (charming smile), I just need enough to get home. Yeah I left my wallet at: home, work, my girlfriend’s, etc.” take your pick they all work. But since I paid for gas he didn’t have to con anybody, instead he sat in his car blasting off in full view, oh boy.

On the freeway he asked if I wanted to try gas jugging and I told him, “that kind of thing isn’t for me man, I don’t like asking strangers for handouts I don’t need”

“It’s cooool maaaaaaaaaaaan, it’s all karma. These people help me out when I’m in need and it makes them feel good inside. At the same time they’re receiving good karma which if you think about it it’s what I give back to them. Nobody loses. I’m creating karma loops, and when I do have things to give I give them. It all takes care of itself brother”

Twenty min. into the trip he hits me with the first drag: we had to make a small detour in San Bernardino to drop off the stuff in back of his car at his uncle’s house, which wasn’t necessarily a problem since the house was right off of the I-215/15 junction (which I’ve since dubbed the doomed hwy, the I-15, due to endless traveling hangups, including the one I’ll soon unravel in this here wordpiece). Aside from the detour he told me that we would have to hang out at his uncle’s place for a few hours so’s not to be rude by dropping things off and leaving, “but don’t worry we can score a meal, some snacks and man, do you wanna drink, do you wanna get drunk? We could get drunk there and crash out”

“I can’t man, I don’t have time for that” I told him, “I have to be in Grand Junction tomorrow afternoon for work”

“You gotta relax maaan, you’re traveling. Everything will work out you’ll get there man but I’m telling you now I don’t think we’re gonna be in Grand Junction by tomorrow, it’s probably gonna be a few days. We gotta take it easy and enjoy the trip, nothing is ever fun when you’re in a rush”

ooooo lord I was getting pissed and clenching my jaw considering getting off in San Bernardino taking a train home and trying a new ride the next day, but I’d already told Donny that I’d be in Grand Junction the next day. I had no choice but to see the thing through.

We got lost on the way to his uncle’s house and wasted about 30 miles worth of gas 40 minutes of time so that when we finally found the house (it was only his aunt Nora home) it was close to 10 PM. We still had ten hrs of nightime/early morning driving ahead of us (not including potential naps, running breaks, and unforeseen fiascos which loomed inevitably). Luckily his aunt had a nice set of tits and fed us spaghetti and beer otherwise I would’ve killed them both. We ate drank and bullshitted, and in fact I forgot to mention – I had taken a magnesium citrate drink earlier in the day to clear minor anxieties (also serves as minor laxative but I underestimated the amount I drank). So while Sanjay and his Aunt were at the dinner table eating and talking I was trying to take a shit quietly (failing miserably, cringing at every sound) in his bathroom, which was so insufferably echoey and close to the kitchen, the house dead silent anyway and I’m sure they could hear my echoing bathroom shit sounds, sigh.

Anyway, we sat at the table for about an hour before heading into the garage to smoke weed and hold further conversations. I spent the entire pot smoking session staring at Sanjay, who was smiling at nothing oblivious to my stare. I stared in frustration with evil throatchoking intentions – it now being midnight and us still in San Bernardino, Sanjay baked to the gills so that his eyes were hardly even open (and just now I remember him taking off his shoes, no socks, his bare toes wiggling as if on beach in warm sand cozy while he reclined in his lawn chair smiling – gah!)

I should mention that his uncle landed him a job, some sort of administrative gig at an engineering firm, it was his second week and he was ditching work for a few days and maybe even for good to travel to Colorado on a whim. He lied to his aunt (who suggested we sleep over – I shot him a glance that said fuck no, and told her I couldn’t because I had big important errands to run for my mom early in the morning) – lied to his aunt that he had to leave anyway to be up early for work next day and in fact told his aunt we were old friends and I was with him because we we’re going to head to a bar to meet another friend. His aunt bought it all, all the lies and charm and gave him a bunch of her weed (to which his face lit up – free weed, what?) before going to bed. We had to wait awhile for his high to wear off and ended up leaving at 2 AM. He made sure to raid her cupboards and take armfuls of snacks, helping himself to more spaghetti straight out of the container in the fridge. I told him to make a big pot of coffee because we sure as hell were gonna need it and he made a whopping pot before we finally split.

30 miles down the road I realized I had forgotten my cell phone and became so pissed at myself and the entire night that I felt like opening the door and letting myself fall out of the car to hell with it all. We had to backtrack and I had to knock on his cousin’s bedroom window for 10 minutes at 230 in the morning before he finally woke up (real nice fat kid our age). Finally we set out and I mean really set out for Vegas. At one point a fat middleaged woman went running across the interstate way off in the distance and I shouted, “Hey WATCH OUT!”. Sanjay slowed down and cop lights lit up our mirrors fast approaching passing us and finally stopping in front of us. It turned out the woman was running from some sort of surly redneck lover in a wifebeater. The surly lover was arguing with one officer on the interstate shoulder while the woman was off talking to another officer, and here we were the only other car on the interstate parked behind all this gawking before one of the officers walked up to the window and BARKED, ” GET MOVING!!” and we did. What next!

Nothing actually until we got to Vegas. We had to gas jug once before Vegas and got a gallons worth ($5.00+) from some young big spenders in a flashy white car with doors that opened up, not out. Outside of Vegas before sunrise the light from the strip lit the sky so that it looked like the sun was rising – which couldn’t have been possible given the time, 4AM Summertime – and our northerly direction. We were so tired and so baffled by the light Sanjay spent half an hour questioning and deciding that yes maybe yes it had to be the sun. Could Vegas lights really create that effect before dawn? We were bonding in our weariness and I realized I was no longer pissed

which didn’t last long.

As we drove into Vegas Sanjay started talking about spending the day and the little-to-no-money he had trying his luck in casinos or even looking for work as a chauffeur for a few days using his own station wagon. I sat there shaking my head, tired. I told him, “our main concern right now is sleep, we need sleep. You’re never gonna get a job as a chauffeur as tired as you are and besides I have to be in Grand Junction today”

He agreed on sleep but instead of sleeping he parked in a starbucks parking lot and began checking craigslist for people who needed northbound rides so we could pool in some extra gas money. Since we had arrived in Vegas I’d been urging him to throw in his share of gas money, nevermind gas jugging, we were near empty. He insisted on gas jugging.

“That’s the beauty of gas jugging man, you get to travel for free. Why am I gonna waste the little money I have if there are people out there nice enough to help me out?”

At this point I realized I had most likely been duped. He didn’t have any money. In fact and to really stick a stake in the heart he contacted a guy headed to Oregon and decided Portland was where he wanted to be. The guy headed to Oregon was looking for riders and didn’t actually need a ride. Sanjay didn’t mind. He asked the guy if he could leave the station wagon at his place, and head to Oregon with him (leaving me stuck fucked in Vegas needing and having paid for a ride to Grand Junction).

“Great man, do you smoke herb? I’ll swing by your house and we can match bowls. Do you mind if I take a nap at your place? I haven’t slept for awhile”. etc. (all this while I’m sitting right next to him).

When he hung up I said, “What’s your deal man? What are you calling up people headed toward Oregon for?”

“Man lets just make an adventure out of this and head to Oregon. I know this really nice cute chick in Portland who can give us a place to stay and feed us. She’s so nice (dreamy expression). Portland is where it’s at!” I was beginning to question whether Sanjay was a speedfreak with a scrambled brain but his endless smoking and carefree stoner vibe made me decide he was just a plain idiot.

For some reason I can’t remember, Sanjay’s Oregon plan didn’t crystallize. We drove to a gas station so he could gas jug – at which point I knew I had to get my half of the gas money thus far ($20) and bail. While he was hanging around outside his car I stepped out and told him, “I’m gonna find another way to get to Colorado from here. I don’t know what the whole Oregon thing was about, the plan was to head to Colorado and I pitched in on gas. You’ve been on empty for awhile now and I don’t know why you don’t just fill the tank. I’m not up for gas jugging the rest of the way to Colorado. I have to be in Grand Junction to meet my boss, I don’t have time to gas jug. You’re gonna have to give me your half of the gas money”

While I was talking he was trying to cut in with excuses and explanations and defenses with a look on his face like he was taken off guard, confused, nervous. I can’t remember what he was saying or trying to say because I was so mad in the moment and ready to fight if it came to that, but I do remember him saying that I was using him as a personal taxi and that isn’t the way rideshares work.

I said, “You knew beforehand that I had to be in Grand Junction early today and you and your stupid fuckin’ ideas and detours screwed everything up. You’re not a taxi, you said you had to go to Colorado and so do I thus here we are splitting gas to arrive at the same destination. You didn’t mention shit about gas jugging or stopping in San Bernardino or taking days to get Colorado. What did you think? I’m not trying to hang out under the stars and make this a journey. I gotta work and I gotta be there at a certain time, I told you this from the start. What the hell are you doing trying to leave your car in Vegas and head to Oregon? You’re cracked man. You need sleep and you need to go in the gas station and get the money”

I was standing in the passenger door in case he tried to pull a fast one and jet, the little fuck. He had a defensive look about him, walked quick to his driver door as if he was gonna drive off so I grabbed his laptop from his driver seat which really got him mad

“What are you doing?! Give me the laptop!” and he tried to grab it out of my arms but I moved away. I said, “Look, you better walk into that gas station and get my money or we’re gonna have a problem (meaning fight)”

He said,”Just put my laptop back, what the fuck man!” in frustrated submission and I did and practically marched him into the gas station, walking behind him.

He was about to use the ATM but I stopped him, “Hey you don’t want to do that. They’re gonna charge you a $4.00 fee. Just get the money out at the register, they won’t charge you a fee up there.” I didn’t like the kid but it didn’t make sense to knowingly let him face an unnecessary ATM fee – it’s bad karma.

So I got my money back, which you might be thinking – all this trouble for $20? – Yes. It’s the principle of the matter. He’s a shady cat and I wasn’t going to let that shit fly. Before I left he seemed reluctant to let me leave, asking me and actually trying to convince me to continue the trip gas jugging.

“No man. You lied to me. You never had any money to make this trip. In fact all you do is lie. You lied to your family about work, you ditched work the second week after your uncle landed you the job? What’s wrong with you? You lie to people for free gas. You talk karma and shit man, you’re pathetic. You’re a loser, you don’t want to do anything in life but mooch off of people who work for what they have. You’re a bum”

I actually went on and told him all kinds of similar and harsher truths, lecturing him like a father and all this at a gas station pump at 6AM while morning workers were probably watching while gassing up.

And at that I walked off having not slept for 24 hrs, ready to start the day in downtown Vegas.

Sanjay on the right