On The Road
| I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understand the art of walking, that is, of taking walks, ... who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering" ~Henry David Thoreau
July 17, 1999, it was a beautiful Sunday morning at Blue Mountain Summit in Pennsylvania. I had hiked for over three months and about 1,140 miles in my attempt to thru-hike the 2,167 miles of the Appalachian Trail. I was crossing the road headed for the north side of the trail when an old pickup truck pulled up beside me. The driver stuck his head out and asks, "Are you the hiker from Florida, your name "No Clue"? (my trail name) The fear gripped me immediately, how could he have known that? He told me I had an emergency at home and he would drive me to the nearest payphone. I could not remember ever having felt so frightened! I instantly became horrified that something had happened to my son, my little boy. "Dear God," I kept repeating to myself, "Please, oh God please let it be only an injury! He's been in a car wreck but he's going to be alright!" I climbed into the backseat of the truck. The driver, Todd Gladfelter, was ferrying two female hikers to one of the numerous trail-heads in the area. All three occupants were completely silent as we rode toward a payphone. I kept agonizing as to what the emergency could possibly be, no one offered to try to assure me that everything would be alright. They already knew what I was soon to find out. I remember hoping the news would be the serious illness of my eighty year old mother, even guiltily willing to hear of my mothers death... anything than either of my babies! We pulled up to an old country store and Todd pointed to where the phone was. I remember now that he and the two hikers walked away a few feet and just stood there looking at the ground with an occasional nervous glance at one another. I was shaking so badly I could barely punch in the number of my home. My daughter answered, I blurted out, "Shelly what is wrong, what has happened?" Between sobs, she screams, "Just get home, just get on a plane and get home!" Now I am totally horrified! Shelly , you have got to tell me what is wrong, has Stevie been in a car wreck or something?" She then screams out the most horrible words that had entered my ears, "He's gone dad... our Stevie is gone... he killed himself daddy!" My beautiful only son had gone down to the beach, placed a gun in his mouth and ended both our lives! I fell back away from the phone as though I had been physically shoved away from it... and I screamed! I could not stop screaming! In my mind was a line from a popular war movie, over and over, "The horror, the horror!" I was completely incapacitated! I could not think, I could not move! I could only scream! I felt as though my heart had been chopped from my body with an axe while I was yet breathing! This could not be happening to me! My life was over! My charming, witty, intelligent, and handsome son, my pride and joy, my proud contribution to the universe was gone! Todd and the two ladies took hold of me and placed me in the back seat of the truck. One of the ladies stayed in the back with me while I screamed. They all tried to comfort me. Todd dropped the ladies off at their prearranged hiking spot and we drove on up to his home in the Blue Mountains. His wife was waiting when we pulled up, she came off the porch running and jumped immediately into the back of the truck and wrapped her arms around me. "What do you want to do, what can we do for you?" She asked. "I need a place to scream!" I said. "We have lots of room for that." she said., and pointed me toward the barn. Todd's wife is Cindy Ross, a successful author of adventure and travel books. Todd and Cindy both write about their adventures and raise Llama's on their Pennsylvania farm. Two of life's very special people. After practically bathing me, they gave me descent clothes for my flight home . Todd drove me to the airport at Allentown to board a puddle jumper to Washington's Dulles Airport where I would change planes for Orlando. I barely remember a very quiet, calm, and composed Todd Gladfelter taking my credit card and approaching the ticket counter. I was just standing there like a zombie waiting to be told what to do. Evidently there was a discrepancy about the address or something with my credit card and Todd was trying to work it out. And then I heard Todd say, "What the hell is wrong with you people?! For God's sake give the man his damn ticket and let's get him home! Can't you see the condition he's in? For crying out loud, just do it!" He was shouting it! The stunned agent just looked at him in disbelief, she then punched the right buttons and gave the man my ticket. It worked, I was taken immediately to my plane I could no longer control myself; I no longer cared about anything other than the horrible indescribable pain in my very being. I started screaming on the plane! There were about twenty five people on-board and nearly all tried to comfort me. There were both men and women holding my hands and rubbing my back. When we landed at Dulles International attendants were waiting for me with a wheelchair, I could not walk! I was no longer a functioning human being! A very old lady approached me, she evidently had been sitting in the very front of the plane, away from the rest of us. She patted my hand and said, "Honey, I heard you back there, I don't blame you for being frightened, that was the roughest flight I have ever been on!" I had not noticed. An employee of Delta Airlines was pushing me to my next flight when a tall attractive African American lady with a walkie-talkie in her hand approached me. She was obviously someone of authority; she was issuing commands to a small entourage accompanying her. She stood in front of me and asked very gently, "Mr. Fugate, do you think you can get out of that wheelchair just for a moment?" I replied that I wasn't sure. She patiently coaxed me to stand up. Upon standing, this beautiful woman wrapped her arms around my neck, put her lips to my ear and whispered, "Mr. Fugate, we all love you and are here for you... and God loves you!" She then asked if I thought I would be able to board the flight to Orlando. I told her I didn't know. I didn't know anything, my mind was not functioning. All I could do was cry and repeat over and over, "my little boy, my beautiful little boy!" I was sent via ambulance to a nearby Washington D.C. hospital emergency room. I was given mild sedatives that had no effect what so ever. A case hardened emergency room doctor approximately my own age, with tears running down his face, pleaded my case to his superiors that I needed stronger drugs! The two EM-T's from the ambulance , stayed at my side during my emergency room visit. They informed me they had asked permission to be the ones to drive me back to the airport. They asked if that was okay with me, to which of course I answered "yes." It is still hard to believe how touched everyone was by my tragedy and how they all tried to comfort me. On the flight headed for Florida, the steward was instructed to allow me to stand in the back with him as soon as the seat-belt light went out. He tried to comfort me as best he could between serving drinks. Somewhere during the flight he looked at me and said, It makes you wonder why God would do something like this?" I was totally surprised by my immediate answer, "Oh, God didn't do this, it was allowed to happen though, and I've got to find out why!" I went home to bury my little boy. I was asked by most of his fine young friends, "Why?" I had no real answer. My son left twelve notes to his loved ones and friends, but there was no answer to, "Why?" I had to make funeral arrangements for my little boy, I had no idea what I was doing! In my family it was traditional that some protestant minister conducted the funeral services, so I went in that direction. I remembered a popular Assembly of God minister in Vero Beach I had heard speak. He became a minister due to an incident in which he accidentally shot and killed his cousin while drunk. I had enjoyed his sermon about not judging others and figured he had to be a pretty understanding guy, considering all he had gone through. His wife answered the phone. Between sobs I explained to her I had lost my son and I needed her husband to help me bury my boy. She immediately asked, "Was your son saved?" I did not want to discuss this; I just wanted to get my precious little boy buried properly. I replied, "Ma'am, can't he just come and talk so I can bury my boy!" She very firmly repeated, "Was your son saved!?" My heart was aching as if it was in a vice, and this line of questioning was tightening it. In frustration, I answered, "I don't know!" She then blurted out, "Mr. Fugate, I believe that your son killed himself!" I couldn't believe it! I could not believe she was passing judgment on my beautiful little boy! The pain was so horrible, I screamed something I never dreamed I would say to a woman, "F--- you, you c---!" I can't believe my daddy didn't rise from the grave! The phone slammed in my ear. She had probably never been called a c--- and I had certainly never lost a child. For weeks I just made the required movements to function as a normal human being and try to run my little business. The pain was unbearable, I cried almost constantly. and at days end I would go home and try to drink myself to death. There was no comfort. My sweet little girlfriend, Jeanne, tried as hard as anyone possibly could, to give me comfort. Thank you Jeanne! I was a terrible companion for her. I believe, if one has lost a child and not taken their own life, and are not in an institution... they are doing quite well! I really did not care if I lived or died. These words came out of my heart during this time. Oh God I cried, my soul relieve, the emptiness of my heart speaking from that echo chamber where I grieve. My life is oer', my child is missing. Restore to me if only my sanity, to walk among the living, not the dead! My soul is pacing, waiting... on me. Oh God it's hard, it's life I dread! Where's it hidden, this life I miss? In fields of cloud above the dew, or further still in a heavenly abyss? Find him please, for he took mine too! I decided I would finish the Appalachian Trail in honor of my son who also had wanted to hike the "AT" immediately after I finished. I also feared losing my mind if I didn't commit to something. So I went back out there and I finished that damn trail! That beautiful 2000 mile foot-path turned into trail therapy for me. It dawned on me while I was out on the Appalachian Trail, the terrible tragedy that had befallen me, happens to others! I was finding out the key to a happy life, no matter the situation, get your eyes off yourself. The easiest way to do that, turn your eyes toward others! I had no idea how I was going to go about it; I just knew I was going to help others! My mother lost two children, one of them being my fourteen-year-old twin sister and a little boy at 18 months. In her grief she nearly destroyed her life and the lives of her three other children. I was determined not to make the same mistake my dear mother had. Emotions have energy and I believe grief is the strongest emotion. And I am certainly not alone in my belief that the loss of a child is by far… the worse grief. So my personal analogy was, my mother had unwittingly allowed the energy generated through her grief to do harm instead of good. We forgive you mom, as none of us have the right to judge a parent in their method of handling the loss of their child! The terrible pain in their hearts blinds them! I wanted to convert my energy and aim it in the right direction. I figured it would take some extreme good to equal my extreme tragedy. There were two things that had been running through my mind constantly. The fact that in one of my son's suicide notes, he had said he hoped some good could come out of his death. And on the day of his funeral, my daughter and I were in my bedroom trying to comfort each other. Shelly, all of sudden started yelling at me, "Damn you, and damn you, why couldn't you have given Stevie your love for life!" I was completely stunned! I stammered out, "Honey, I didn't know I had a love for life." And from her little broken heart, she yelled back, "Of course you do you idiot! Just ask your friends! Damn you!" She had never spoke to her father that way. I reached out and took her in my arms; this was my other baby.... The only one I had left! A few weeks later I did what my daughter said, I individually asked three different friends if they thought I had a love for life? All three laughed and basically said, "Sure you do." So, I came up with this creed, I wanted no other parent to suffer the horror I had suffered, and I wanted no other young person to miss out on loving life! I was not able to give my own child my love for life but by God I was going to give it to the children of others! And some way, some how, I would heed my son’s words and make some good come out of his death! After finishing the Appalachian Trail, I decided I had to get started practicing my new creed. I began calling every organization that pertained to helping young people and particularly those organizations aimed at youth suicide prevention. There just seemed to be no way anyone could use me in their programs. I also tried various religious groups to no avail. Many of them had even more of a stigma about suicide than the rest of America. You know, a big door opens up with a chute that leads straight to hell if you take your own life. In the mean time young people are still dying! I eventually became frustrated with trying to open the right doors. So I finally came up with a plan to open my own damn door. I decided to walk across America with my message. I knew I couldn't walk up to every person I saw and say, "Hey, don’t take your own life!" And then it hit me, "LOVE LIFE!" Loving life is the exact opposite of the depression which creates disdain for life. I would walk across the U.S.A. with a big sign over my head encouraging others to "LOVE LIFE"! So, April 2001 I went to California for the very first time and started my walk from Point Reyes National Seashore at the Pacific Ocean. I put my sign on for the first time just before walking onto the Golden Gate Bridge. My daughter orchestrated my trip and kept tabs on my where abouts and helped me in obtaining newspaper coverage. I garnered quite a bit of attention toward my cause and we felt that many lives had been touched. There were even personal testimonies that my sign had made some change their minds about taking their own lives! A year and a half later I decided to walk with my sign again, this time I set out to walk the perimeter of the U.S. Again, my daughter helped orchestrate my walk. While on my walk around the U.S., my daughter was diagnosed with MS. It scared me to death, but she seemed to be quite positive about it. She said she would fight it with all she had because of her little girl. She even started back to school and was doing well. We communicated a lot. She would call me and keep me posted as to test scores, which classes she enjoyed most and so on. On February 17, 2005. I was walking on U.S. highway Rt.1 in Daytona Beach, Florida. It was a delightful morning. I had spoke to my daughter only days before and we were both excited that my walk was nearly finished and I would be home in only three weeks or so. She and my three- year-old granddaughter would be driving down to South Florida from their home In Holiday, Florida to pick me up. It was a cheerful thought knowing I was only about 150 miles away from my little girl. I couldn't wait to see her. That morning the Daytona Beach News Journal had printed a story on my walk from an interview they had done with me the day before. There was a large picture of me with my sign alongside the article. So people were recognizing me and several were yelling, waving, and honking their horns. That kind of event always made me feel good and made for a great day. This time it felt especially good as I was in my home state! My cell phone rang, I looked at the screen and seeing it was my sister calling, I was delighted! "Hey sis!" I shouted with glee knowing it was my adorable sister. I heard these words, "I do not want to be the one to tell you this!" Of course, fear gripped my heart. "Oh God!" I said, "It's mom isn't it? That's the only thing it could have been judging from the despair in her voice. It had to be the death of a loved one. And it had to be my mother because I had already lost my only son! There was just no way it could be my other child, my last child! I can still hear her next words screaming inside my skull, "It's your little girl honey... your Shelly is gone!!" How surreal! Cars driving by with people yelling and horns blowing and, "your Shelly is gone!" I felt like I was in slow motion and everything else was going super fast past me! I had been there before! What In the hell am I going to do... how can I possibly handle this? My head was screaming and my heart was bleeding! I could hear my sister calling out from my phone over and over, "tell me what to do honey!" and, "Are you alright!" Finally I put the phone back up to my ear and yelled, "Hell no, I'm not all right!" and I hung up. I was in pure agony. My sister called back and said, "Please tell me what you want me to do honey!" I knew I wasn't being fair to my sister, I had to give her an answer but I didn't have an answer! Once more, my life was over! I just stood there with my mind frozen in disbelief... finally some words came out of my mouth, "call Larry damn it!" It seemed forever before I finally remembered Larry's phone number. Larry was my friend Larry Pesin who had been helping me orchestrate my walk and the chief reason for its success. I had called Larry nearly every week for the past two years while walking around the U.S. Moments later my friend Larry called, he was at the airport In Mexico City preparing to fly home to Florida from a business trip. I just started screaming to Larry that my little girl was gone; my precious, beautiful little girl was really gone! Larry said to me, "Steve, you have got to get it together!" "There is no fucking getting it together!" I yelled and then hung up on my friend! I had no Idea what the hell I was doing. This was my last child; she was all I had in the world! She was really gone... both my babies were now gone! My phone rang again and Larry simply said, "Steve, someone is coming to get you in just a few moments. Someone will be calling you, and all you have to do is tell them your exact location. My dear friend Larry had called a limousine service to pick me up and drive me to the West Coast of Florida where my lifeless little girl was waiting for her daddy to say goodbye. My sister later called Larry and told him how much our family appreciated what he had done for me, and Larry said, "He's my friend." As I stood there in a trance of grief and anguish waiting for my ride, I automatically started trying to accept what had just happened to me. I simply looked skyward and these words came out of my mouth, "Both of them, you have to have both of them?" I loved both my babies equally, but if one death hurt worse than the other... it had to be the death of the only one I had left. Something else flashed into my mind as I stood there. Months before, while walking through Northern Ohio, a man saw my sign and insisted he had to relate his story to me. He told me of his wife leaving him and their two little boys without a word. As he was telling me his story my cell phone rang, it was my daughter. I apologized to the gentleman and suggested that perhaps we would see each other again. He told me he felt strongly to tell me his story. He said very matter of fact that he would see me again. I talked with my little girl for quite awhile and then walked on into the little town. I had forgotten all about the man and his story. I came to a little bar and grill, knowing they usually have the best sandwiches, I went in to eat. Typical of a bar, when I first entered it was dark and I couldn't see well. I sat down at the end of the bar directly in front of me. I ordered a beer and asked for a menu. Someone said, "I've got that beer." And there sitting facing me just at the corner of the bar, was the guy who had been telling me the story! I couldn't believe it. He simply said, "Told you I would see you again." He went right back into telling me his story. He said that not long after his wife left, the three year old was accidentally ran over in their driveway and killed. He saw the whole thing, he watched his baby boy di in his arms. Years later he was at his girlfriends’ home and received a phone call telling him his 33-year-old only son had just died of a massive heart attack. He said he grabbed the side of the kitchen bar and he gripped it as hard as he could. He said he looked up and he screamed, "Father, thank you for the time I had with my two boys!" He said his girlfriend started yelling at him and said, "What the hell is wrong with you? How can you say something like that at a time like this? You should be asking why you!" He said he turned to her and said, "Why not me? Do I want it to happen to someone else instead?" This guy was for real, he really did that! Why in the hell was this guy so adamant about telling me his story? The recollection of his story helped me accept the horror once again... why not me? I never want this to happen to anyone else. And over my head was my answer, what I was preaching to all, I had to push on and... "LOVE LIFE"! "I think I'll take a walk."" "Attacked!" Early Into Virginia, while hiking the Appalachian Trail, I saw my first bear. All I really saw was his rear-end, going as fast as possible to avoid an encounter with a human being! He looked like a black blur. I remember thinking how fortunate I was he was running away from me instead of toward me because just the day before, I saw a poster on a tree warning about a bear. It warned that there was a bear in the area that was showing no fear of humans and was being a nuisance. Others had been recounting their bear sightings to me, I now I had my own! I had started to worry I might hike the entire "AT” and not see a bear. I couldn't wait to relate my own bear story! Later that evening I found the perfect tent site. The wind had been blowing hard for the last two days making it very hard for us to pitch our tents. So I was delighted to find a nice flat spot with a huge boulder beside it. The rock was large enough to help block my tent from the wind. I pitched my small one-man tent and made my huge backpack safe from wind and probable rain by lodging it under a ledge of the huge rock. When choosing a tent I chose lightweight over space, so there was no room for my backpack. I was in for the night, the wind was howling loudly outside but I was snuggled in my sleeping bag studying my topography maps for the next days hiking challenge. All of a sudden something lunged into the side of my tent with great force! My reaction was instantaneous! I arched my back, lifted my legs in the air directly level with the intruder and with a fear and adrenaline induced scream I kicked the beast with all my might! The force of my kick pushed it back from the tent! I don't think I had ever been more frightened in my life! Immediately the beast rammed the side of the tent again! I screamed even louder this time and kicked with everything I had, throwing my whole body into it! Again, I had kicked it back! Had I scared it off, had I killed it? My mind was racing. I thought of the bear I had seen just hours before, and even worse, the bear the poster warned about. I was so frightened, my heart felt as if it would pound itself right out of my chest! I just sat there in an upright position waiting! Waiting and praying that the bear or whatever it was would not attack again. I stayed in that position for hours staring at the spot where it had tried to come into my tent, praying to God I would still be alive come daylight! Sometime near dawn, I finally fell asleep. When I awoke at daylight, delighted to be yet breathing, I cautiously stepped around the tent to check the tracks and see if there was damage to the tent. And there it was! I had killed it! My backpack was lying there dead! The force of the wind had dislodged it from its perch and the fifty-pound backpack had fallen against my tent. When I kicked it the first time it merely hit against the rock and immediately fell back against the tent once more. The second kick was so hard the backpack evidently bounced off the rock and to the side just enough to hit the ground instead of the tent... and that's where it died. "BRIDGE DANCIN'" I still have no idea why I told all my friends in Vero Beach, Florida that I would dance across the Golden Gate Bridge? But being as I did say I would, I had no choice but to dance! I strapped on my "LOVE LIFE" sign just before I stepped onto the bridge. It would be my first time wearing the sign, and if that wasn't embarrassing enough, I was going to dance! As I stepped onto the bridge I looked up and saw hundreds of cyclist coming toward me, and they all cheered as they saw my "LOVE LIFE" sign. Lots of cars were blowing their horns also. I just stood there, there was no way I was going to dance! What would I tell my friends when they asked me if I danced across The Golden Gate Bridge like I said I would? I had to dance! I turned my headset on and I started dancin'! I felt like a complete idiot, but I had to stand by my word! As I danced and the cyclist and motorist yelled and honked out their approval, I actually started getting into it! Okay, I conquered my fear of the dancing, I was in the middle of the Golden Gate taking a break beside one of the huge girders, out of the ferocious wind and... surprise!! Coming toward me was a police cruiser, with it's lights flashing, directly behind that, a huge truck with large flashing arrows running from the top and down each side! When I first saw the truck, the lights were flashing yellow. The police cruiser stopped beside me and the lights on the truck were now flashing red! "I'm in serious trouble, right?" The officer gets out of the car and approaches me, as he walked toward me, a barrage of profanity poured from the cyclist and autos aimed at the poor officer. He had a big smile on his face, was super courteous, as he explained, "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to remove your sign." And I very courteously asked, "why?" He told me it was a law, no signs what-so-ever were permitted to be displayed on the Golden Gate Bridge. I said, "Sir, you and I both know, with the number of suicides committed off this bridge, this sign should be paraded up and down the bridge constantly!" "I know." He answered, "but I have to do my job sir." Many, on the bridge were still hurling obscenities at him! I told him I would certainly comply. It was such a hassle to unhook from my cart, I asked if he would mind unhooking the sign for me. I explained that it was merely fastened with four Velcro straps. He unfastened the sign, placed it flat and on top my cart under a couple bungee cords securing my load. The officer was almost back in his car and I yelled over the roar of the wind and the obscenities, "Hey, can I still keep on dancin'?" "Absolutely, keep on dancin'!" The fine gentleman yelled back. Just as the officer was starting to pull out and the big arrows on the truck had changed to flashing green, I made my first step forward. As soon as I was out of the protection of the girder, the wind hit my sign just right, breaking the rigidity of the sign and caused the top part of the sign to be perfectly upright on top of the cart, and very readable! The people on the bridge erupted into cheers and yelled out what they saw... "LOVE LIFE!" I turned and saw the officer point to the sign. I just shrugged and mouthed out, "you did it sir!" There was really nothing the poor guy could do? Traffic was starting to move and the crowd was yelling like crazy! He just shook his head, motioned with his hand for me to continue and mouthed, "Never mind, go ahead!" I was cheered the rest of the way across the bridge! "MAKIN' MOVIES" It was April, 2001, I had just entered U. S. highway 50 at Pollock Pines, California. Since entering California a little over two weeks before, I would be traversing my first major four lane highway. I decided to get off the trails due to rumors of several feet of snow still on some foot trails in the Sierra's. I had been on the highway for ten minutes or so when it dawned on me that I had noticed no traffic. Just as this was dawning on me I look to my left, and just off the highway were a man and woman with walkie-talkies in their hands and they were staring at me with their mouths agape. With my biggest smile, I waved to them, they did nothing but stare, as if they were refusing to recognize my existence! I thought, "Assholes, stuck-up Californians!" Just around the bend, I saw another couple to my right. They too had walkie-talkies and a look of disbelief with mouths opened wide. At least the woman waved back , half heartily anyway. Then I look up in front of me and there is a California State Trooper pulling his cruiser right up to me, and his flashing lights are on, and he is laughing! He gets out of the car and walks toward me shaking his head... and laughing. Between the laughter, he says, "You have made my day! No, wait a minute, you probably have made my year!" And I said, "I am happy to provide such entertainment for you sir, would you be so kind as to explain how this came about?" Still laughing between sentence's he explains to me that they had just shut down 25 miles of this scenic stretch of winding highway 50 through the Sierra's to film a Nissan commercial! Doing the filming of the commercial was a production company out of L.A. with a 45 man crew plus two professional NASCAR drivers to do the driving at speeds of 125 miles per hour. They had stopped all vehicular traffic at all entrances to the highway. Because of always walking toward traffic, I had entered via an exit instead of one of the entrance ramps.They had everything secured and ready to go, The driver of both the new prototype Nissan and the 1975 Ford Ranchero powered by a 428 big block and converted to a camera car, were staged and ready to go! And then... here comes this complete moron walking toward them with a big sign over his head, "LOVE LIFE." And he is waving at everyone, more proof, he is the complete moron! And I thought they were acting like idiots! The trooper was equipped with a walkie talkie to directly communicate with the production crew. They are asking him what the hell is going on and when can they begin filming! It has to be costing them lots of money every minute they are held up. The trooper calmly ( between chuckles) tells them he has to ask me some questions. I think he was enjoying making them wait, I found out later how much locals in the Sierra's resent 'outsiders' form Southern California. The trooper asked ( between chuckles ) me for ID and if I were an American citizen. I proudly answered yes and handed him my "Sunshine State" drivers license. He hands my license back and then keys the walkie talkie to make sure they hear too, he begins to explain, "Because this is a federal highway and you are an American citizen, I can not stop you from continuing your forward progress. I can only ask you to." He then proceeded to very courteously ask me if I would please leave the highway momentarily and apologized for the inconvenience to me. You could hear the groaning coming from the walkie talkie. I think the trooper was really enjoying it. I said, "Why don't they just leave me in the commercial, I think it would be a unique addition!" He said, "I already suggested that, I told them they should zoom in on you and your sign and say, "If you want to love life like this guy does, buy a new Nissan!" He said they were not amused. Now we were both laughing! Going along with the jovial mood I said, "These are my demands, I want a Gatorade every fifteen minutes and a chair to sit in while I drink it!" Again, we laughed, but I did start walking toward the next spot where I could get completely off the highway. There was a nice young man there and he did have a soda and a chair for me! He explained everything to me as we waited for the two machines to come roaring down through the Sierra's! It was extremely exciting! And then we heard the roar of the big block 428 breaking the peace of the mountains! And I had a front row seat! Watching them film that car going through those Sierra curves at that high rate of speed was fantastic! I was at a live movie! After that segment of filming, the production company waited long enough before moving to the next 'shoot' for me to walk to where they were. Allowing me to visit with the crew, meet the drivers, and take pictures of the camera car. I was not allowed to take pictures of the new Nissan though. They were all very courteous to me, it was a tremendous adventure for me! I saw the trooper two days later and he was still laughing! "A Hug And A Beer" It was a Sunday afternoon in June, I was crossing the Shoshone Indian Reservation just outside of Fallon, Nevada. The temperature was past a hundred and felt like it was climbing. This was my first time walking in desert lands, I was on route 50, America's Loneliest Highway. I was a little anxious about the next fifty miles into the town of Cold Springs, the nearest water. There was a little store and gas station there and it would be my last place to stop before Cold Springs. I was sitting on the ground out in front of the store having a couple hot dogs and my last ice cold drink for awhile. An old really beat up pick-up truck pulled up just to the right of me. I caught just a glimpse of a very big Shoshone Indian climbing out the passenger side. He had long black braids hanging out of a dust filled, once black cowboy hat. And he obviously had had a little too much to drink. I quickly looked away, I just didn't care to be bothered. I was in an unusual mood, I think I was more worried about crossing my first stretch of desert, than I was letting myself know. The big Indian just stopped right in front of me, staring at me and my cart and my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign. I ignored him. And then he spoke, very slow, "What are you doing?" God, I did not want to be bothered! He repeated, "What are you doing?" "I am walking across America." I finally answered. Then he immediately and very matter of fact asked, "why?" I was really in a funk and just didn't want to converse, I am certain that was the only time in all my walks I ever allowed myself to be in that kind of mood. I answered, "Because I've never done it before!" He was not going to go away, he then says, "But why do you have that sign?" "'Cause I love life!" I said, my irritation showing. "Why?" He wanted to know. I told him that I just thought it was a nice thing to say! "But why?" he said, "And why are you walking with that sign?" Wanting the conversation with this drunk Indian to end, I finally said, "God told me too!" "No shit!" He said. "No shit!" I answered. And with a stunned look on his face, he said, "I didn't know God talked to you white guys?" I said, "well, he talks to me!" He turned to face his truck and the Indian woman at the wheel and yells, "Hey honey, God told this guy to walk across America and by God he's doin' it!" He turns back to me and says, "By God I'm buyin' you a beer!" And a few minutes later he handed me an ice cold beer! He gave me a big bear hug and walked off laughing. Now I was in a great mood and ready to tackle the desert. Hell, all I really needed was a hug and a beer... by God! "JUSTICE" It was July of 2001 and I had reached the town of Montrose, Colorado on my first journey across the U.S.A. by foot. The morning was beautiful! As I walked down the pleasant tree lined street, a lady was walking toward me pushing a baby stroller. I couldn't help but notice how very beautiful the little girl in the stroller was. She was absolutely gorgeous, with coal black hair and big dark eyes. "Snow White" came to mind. I remember thinking though that the child seemed a little old for a stroller. She looked to be maybe six. The child's mother started the conversation by inquiring about my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign ( always a wonderful conversation starter.) I started telling my story. Something about the black haired little angel caught my attention, it seemed as though the movement of her little head and her beautiful dark eyes did not coincide. I bent down to the little one and said, "And what is your name precious?" She did not respond. Her mother spoke up, "This is Justice." And then she added something that seemed a little odd to point out, "She was given that name at birth." And then my world was rocked! Mother, very matter of fact says, "Justice has permanent brain damage, when she was an infant, her father threw her against the wall!" I instantly blurted out, "May he rot in hell!!" I am the father of two; I was out there walking the Nation because I had lost one. I had only one left, my little girl, my beautiful precious little girl! How could anyone do this?! Shocked, is a very inadequate word for that moment. But I did manage to regroup and say, "I'm sorry, I had no right to say that." The mother disagreed with me, for she very calmly said, "Why of course you did." She told me she had concentrated much energy over the past few years on that same mindset. She said the realization came to her, her anger was wasted energy and she found something else to channel her energy toward. She and a group of other courageous young mothers had just returned from a weekend visit to the state prison where the natural father of Justice was incarcerated. They went there because he was going up before a parole board. In her words, again very calmly spoken, "We were there to make sure the scumbag stayed where he belongs." And he did! Thank God they were successful! This group of courageous women join forces whenever necessary and use their energy to keep other dangerous people in prison. I was preparing to leave and I just had to say, "God bless you!" A very proud mommy grabbed the moment and said, Justice knows about God, God and the angels!" And bending down toward the real angel, she says, "Honey, show the nice man where the angels are." I could see no way she could comprehend that suggestion or for that matter, any suggestion. Mommy repeated several times, there was no response. I saw a proud mom trying to show off her little girls abilities. You know how they never say "dada" or "mama" when you want them to. My heart was breaking, watching that oh so proud mother trying to persuade that precious little child to point up to where angels are said to dwell. So I bent down real close to little Justice, and with my finger pointed skyward, I said, "Sweetheart can you show me where the angels are?" A sweet delicate little hand reached out and gripped my finger! Mother was satisfied, and I was changed! I just didn't know how profound a change it was, not yet. Over the next few months I became more and more aware of what I was supposed to be doing. The last part of that quote, "Love and service for his fellow man" became a true revelation for me. I am convinced; when Justice gripped my finger I recieved a life changing transfusion! "Let us all have hope and pray for... Justice!" Slow Down! I was in Kansas, and it was hot! For the last two days I had been suffering from chafing in the groin area, commonly referred to by us guys as, ‘crotch rot’. Well, while eating at a diner earlier in the day, I was talking with the cook and he told me he heard that the heat index was already 101 degrees. I mentioned that I would have a miserable day walking due to my chafing problem until I was able to get to a store to purchase some medicated powder. The sympathetic cook told. me that he had just the thing and went into his kitchen. He came out with a one-gallon Zip-loc bag filled with cornstarch. "Here," he said, "This will fix you right up! Works better ‘n any damn drugstore stuff!" Later in the day as it became even hotter, my little problem started becoming unbearable. I was looking for a place to step off the road and address the problem with large amounts of cornstarch. There was another problem; there was nothing to hide in or even behind of to treat myself, powder my behind , if you will. In Kansas, they jokingly say that their state tree is a telephone pole. The highway was straight and there was neither tree nor building in sight! And there was lots of traffic so I definitely needed some concealment. Finally, I spotted a little gas station off in the distance. As I approached the much needed oasis, I was stopped by one of a group of migrant Mexicans who were standing around refreshing themselves from a day of hard work in the fields. He spoke English, however, with a very strong accent, "Hey, watchyoo doin’ muhn? Whach you sign for muhn?" I was in a huge hurry and really did not want to engage in conversation at that moment. I was in a lot of pain. I answered, "I ‘m just reminding everyone to love life, that’s all." He nodded and asked, "Watchyoo name Muhn?" I that moment I felt my old Appalachian Trail 'trail name' to be quite appropriate and told him, "No Clue." And not wanting to be rude, I explained, "Hey man, I can’t really talk right now I’ve got to get to the restroom real quick, I will talk with you some more after I come out." As I started for the door to the gas station, the inquisitive Mexican stopped me with, "No mahn, the baffroom is in the bachk muhn." Oh, thank you." I said, and headed for the rear of the building. To my anguish, both the men’s and women’s restrooms had "out of order" on the doors! The building was located fairly close to the totally straight highway which made it difficult to not be seen by the numerous automobiles driving past! But I was desperate, I moved as close to the building as possible and dropped my drawers. I reached into the one gallon Zip-Loc bag, came out with a handful of cornstarch and slapped it on my behind! I can now relate as to why an infant coos when powder is applied to its behind. It felt wonderful! I wanted to assure the job was done so I quickly grabbed another handful and applied it to the front part. I then pulled up my shorts as quickly as possible and headed for the front of the building so as not to draw attention to myself. In my joy of a powdered butt, I had forgotten just how light cornstarch is and how it fills the air when using. I stepped back around to the front of the building to where the inquisitive Mexican and his friends were laughing. "Hey No Clue, you gonna’ haff to slow down muhn!" "What?" I answered dumbfounded. In a fit of laughter, he said, "You gonna’ haff to slow down muhn, der's smoke comin’ out you ass!" The guy standing next to him, also laughing, said, "No muhn, it too late muhn, dats white smoke muhn! You dun blowed up you motor muhn!" This brought even more laughter from the two. I didn’t give a damn, my butt was powdered, I was cooing and good to go! I don't always plan on making people laugh, but I sure enjoy it when it happens. "A Revelation in D.C." On my first walk across America I attempted to use The American Discovery Trail as my route across. From having successfully hiked the entire Appalachian Trail I was accustomed to how organized it was. It was marked approximately every one tenth of a mile with a white blaze painted on trees and rocks, it was nearly impossible to get lost on it. Not so with the American Discovery Trail, in spite of having purchased the official American Discovery Trail map set. I was getting lost so much, I was forced to follow correlating highways most of the time. I was in Washington D.C. on a bike trail in a city park designated as part of the American Discovery Trail. I was delighted I had finally got back on the official trail. And then, like so many times before, the trail ended with no more markings. I accidentally found the street I was supposed to be on though. It was starting to get dark and I did not want to get stuck in the middle of D.C. with nowhere to camp. And once again, my American Discovery Trail instructions failed me. The street I was on did not take me where the instructions said it would! Not wanting to be stuck in the residential area I was in, I began walking toward a busier area that I could see several blocks in front of me. I came to a bus stop where several people were waiting, they were all black, as most of the population of D.C. is African American. As I approached with intentions of asking for directions, a young black woman quipped regarding my "LOVE LIFE" sign, "Love life huh? I'll love ya' baby!" A couple of people chuckled. A hooker maybe, or just wanting to get a laugh? I don't know and I didn't care! It was approaching night fall, and I was lost in a large city. A large city with probably the highest crime rate in America. And, I didn't have even enough money to take a cab, let alone for a motel room. I directed my question to one particular man, "Sir could you tell me please, will this street take me back to Route 50 and out of the city?" It became quite obvious I had a made the wrong choice, when he answered, "Whadda' f--- ya axin' me fo... ders a police station right oer der muthaf---a'!" as he pointed just a few buildings away. I thanked him and headed for the police station. The police station was locked! I knocked on the door a few times and there was no response. I probably should have been more persistent and kept knocking until someone came to the door. My independent nature I guess? At any rate, just as I was leaving the police station, a taxi pulled up next to me.The African American driver motioned me over to the passenger side door, " Hey man, ya' look lost, ya' alright, ya' needs a ride man?" I explained that I didn't have cab fare, but I could sure use some directions. The gentleman gave me perfect directions to where I needed to be. I thanked him and I expressed my concern at not having enough time to get there before nightfall. He then said, "Look man, ya sees that big brown buildin' down there.. dats a church, it'll be across from Mickey D's. Well, behinds that church is some kinda ol' Civil Wars fort or sumpin' likes that. Anyways, I'm thinkin' ya' can find someplace to maybe sleeps down there or sumpin?" I thanked him over and over! He said, "It's okay man, you just take care of yoself, okay?" I told him I would certainly try and headed for the church. It was dark by the time I reached the site where the Civil War fort had once been. It was on a knoll and I could see the lights of private residences in back of it. There were spaces in the walls where cannon once were. Now, the stone floor was completely covered with a layer of broken wine and beer bottles. There was a fairly level area of grass nearby where I could even pitch my tent. Just as I started to pitch my tent, I heard the voices of some young girls. It was four teenage black girls and they were asking each other what they thought I might be doing. They seemed really nervous about my presence. I decided to take the initiative and approach them to make sure they knew I didn't mean them any harm. I went up to them and told them I had walked there from California and was walking across the United States. That always peeks the interest of today's teenager, who won't walk anywhere if they can ride. So most are shocked by my walking. Just as they were relaxing a little, realizing I wasn't some weirdo, up walks three young black males. They were there to meet with the girls and the last thing they wanted to encounter was some old white guy getting in their way. The biggest guy starts in on me. "Wadda' f--- ya' doin' 'ere man?" He snapped. And another asked, "What's yore white ass doin' here man?" I don't mind telling you, "I was scared shit-less!" A white man in a hidden area of an all black neighborhood facing three young black men. Whom all of, could have played football and were street wise and tough. And they all were pissed! They were pissed 'cause I was messing with their plans of scoring with the ladies and... I was white! I acted as if the young men weren't angry at all and I continued telling my story to the ladies and my new audience. I immediately let them know that I was walking because my beautiful baby boy had killed himself. I made a point to keep referring to my son as my baby ( not a difficult distinction for me to make). I've never known an African American that wasn't a loving mommy, so I was working on the girls maternal instincts. I told them he was my only son and that my walk was also for my healing. At that time, I still couldn't speak of my son without tears. My strategy worked. The biggest male told me I had to leave there, and all four of the young women yelled at him in unison, telling all of them to leave me alone. One young woman said, "Dat man done loss 'is baby... you all jus' betta leab 'im alone!" The young men were speechless now. It was obvious what they were after and now the girls were getting upset with them. Finally, the obvious leader of the three started asking me questions as if he were really interested in what the hell I was doing. And then he really decided to score points with the ladies and he gave me two dollars and told me to walk down to Mickey D's and get me two burgers. He told one of his friends to go with me so that no one would bother me. He even said, "We'll watch yore shit fer ya' man." The girls were now swooning over him... he was not stupid. He liked what they had more than he disliked what I was... thank God! My body-guard watched me like a hawk while I ordered my two burgers. He insisted on carrying them back for me, other than that we never spoke a word to each other. But I knew he would not have let anyone bother me. After we got back, the seven of them went over to the other side of the earthen fort and went down the knoll a little and out of my site. I heard them giggling and laughing every once in awhile.. I got my tent pitched and was trying to sleep. There were the sound of sirens and gun shots all night long. In the Nations capital! I was still concerned for my safety, I was in a bad spot. I found myself starting to really feel sorry for myself due to the situation I was still in. I still had to walk out of here the next morning, a quiet Sunday morning, when all the good people are still sleeping. I found myself not being able to sleep. I was frightened, I kept thinking of different scenario's, "What if those three young blacks later decided to come back and get the white guy?" And, "What if some other black people found out I was there and wanted to hurt me because I was white?" Out of fear, those kind of thoughts were in my mind most of the night. And then, some time towards morning a sobering question popped into my thoughts, out of nowhere, "What if you had been a black man in earlier Selma, Alabama, or Jackson, Mississippi in the same situation you are now in, only surrounded by whites!" I didn't want to look at the horror that someone other than myself might have had to face! I only wanted to look at my own situation... right now! I couldn't believe it, there I was, in possible danger, and I was having to look at the absolute horror of racial prejudices. Because of my present situation I came to realize, I would not have wanted to be a black man in a white world prior to the enforcement of The Civil Rights Act in America. Maybe the reason there were so many African Americans in Washington D.C. is they went there to feel safe? I woke up very hesitant about still having to walk out of the area I was in. I left around 6:30 am after the gunshots, and then sirens, subsided. I am not making that up! I walked past the police station, still locked and no activity in or around it. I continued on a couple of blocks following instructions of the kind taxi driver. I heard some yelling and cursing from across the street. Out of the corner of my eye, were three young black men, all staring and yelling obscenities at me! I never changed my pace and I don't think they knew I even gave them a glance... I'm somewhat street wise myself, I've been in the gangs. I continued on toward the nice looking residential area I could see up the street. The three decided for some reason, not to harass me any farther. I had to consider, no one burned a cross in front of me, I certainly never had a rope placed around my neck, and I had not been physically harmed in any way. An hour or so later I found myself walking through a delightful and normal looking neighborhood... all black. Many people were coming out of their homes all dressed up and headed for church. Most all greeted me a good morning. Another adjustment in my education of how to look at the world... "Cleanliness Next To Godliness?" I was in Illinois on a road that followed along side the mighty Mississippi River. I never ask for anything other than water when I'm on one of my walks, but I was seriously considering changing that policy. I stunk, and was in dire need of a shower. I came up on a huge church building, it was the Church of God denomination. Well, what a wonderful coincidence, a good friend of mine was a very well known children's minister in that very denomination. Just before I left she gave me a letter of introduction just in case such a need might arise. So I entered the parking lot, pulling my trailer behind me like a beast of burden, with "LOVE LIFE" over my head. I was just starting to undo my straps and unhitch from my rig, which I call "Forest Gump", and a tall gentleman in a three piece suit confronted me. In a very firm tone he asked, "What can I do for you!" He was dressed and groomed impeccably. He was obviously the pastor. I didn't like his tone or his attitude, but I smelled like a goats ass and I wanted a shower! So I tolerated. I showed him the letter and he asked me to step into his office. You should have seen this guys office! Hello corporate America! This guy was most definitely shittin' in high cotton! He acknowledged that he did indeed know the fine lady who penned the letter. He also knew her husband and made a not so nice remark about the gentleman. I ignored the comment, as the gentleman was not there to defend himself. I personally think that the stabbing of one in their back is quite unbecoming behavior for a man of God! I was standing there in front of his massive cherry desk and he was cocked back in his chair with his feet on the desk and I was speechless, I had decided not to ask the asshole for anything. A week without a shower and I still smelled better than he did... if you know what I mean? He asked me, "What is it you are doing exactly?" I said, "I am walking across the U.S.A. talking to as many young people as possible about loving life and trying to assure that they don't take their own life, as my son did." As an afterthought, I added, "I guess, I'm keeping young people alive!" He then said, "With all the walking you've done, you must have talked to lots of people?" I answered, "I've walked here from San Francisco, I've spoken to hundreds." He asked, "Are you talking to them about Jesus?" I said, "NO!" But then added, "I figure Jesus is perfectly capable of introducing himself." I don't think he approved of my answer for he sternly said, "Given the opportunity you have, I feel you should talk about Jesus to all the young people you meet!" That pissed me off! I leaned over that big gaudy desk, placed my hands on it for support, leaned toward him and said, "Tell ya what pastor, I'll make a deal with you, I'm going to keep doing it the way I always have! I'll keep them alive for you, then you and your congregation can get off your butts, follow me, and you can talk to them about Jesus!" I turned for the door as I cared not what he had to say. As I was going out the door I heard him say, "Uh, did you want something specifically?" "Hell no," I thought. I didn't need a shower after all, I actually felt pretty clean. "THE SHOES" I was on my first walk across the U.S.A. and just a few miles outside Evansville, Indiana. I stopped to call my daughter and let her know I was okay. I tried to speak to her at least every four days to keep her from worrying. The first thing she asked, "Daddy, how are your shoe's?" I didn't want her to worry so I lied and said they were fine. The truth, the soles were nearly gone and the gravel was coming in. After I reassured her, I continued on my way to Evansville. My stomach was growling in anticipation of a meal at Mickey D's. I call their $1.00 double cheeseburger, McFilet Mignon' .... sure beats the hell outa' Ramen noodles! I didn't have any money, which really didn't matter .... I was always taken care of .... in every way! A lady pulled up beside me in a beat up old car and commented that she liked my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign. She told me that God had put upon her heart to give me some money. She told me she was very shy and bashful by nature so this was quite hard for her to do. I told her I did not accept money unless the giver heard my story. She listened and I accepted the money. Now I could get my McFilet Mignon' Once in Evansville I located the nearest Mickey D's. A police officer on duty in the restaurant asked if he could join me. Of course I said yes and he proceeded to ask questions about my walk. We were deep in conversation when I looked up from my McFilet Mignon' and there in front of me was my timid benefactor! I had not seen her for nearly an hour and as is in most cases, thought I would never see her again. She forgot all about her shyness and blurted out, "Thank God I found you; I saw your "LOVE LIFE" sign outside! I disobeyed God, I really did .... I disobeyed God!" I am totally confused and thinking, "this cop is going to arrest both our goofy butts!" So I said, "No ma'am, you did not, had it not been for you I would not be here eating." "No, no," She said, "God told me to buy you a pair of shoes and I gave you a little money instead! Now tell me your shoe size and I'll go buy you a pair of shoes!" To which I responded , "No ma'am you do not have to do that, I'll be fine." The cop then, instead of cuffing us together, said to me, "You better do what she says .... 'cause you don't wanna' piss off God!" She took my shoe size and said she would be back in within thirty minutes. I filled the officer in on the whole story and even though he getting off duty, he insisted on staying around to see if she would indeed come back with the shoes. True to her word, she returned in a half hour. In her hands were a pair of New Balance running shoes! On the box I saw an $80.00 price tag. I could see she probably didn't have a lot of money, and feeling bad I said, "Ma'am, you really should not have spent that much money." She said, "I didn't, I only had $50.00 but I felt this to be the pair God wanted me to get. I told the salesman at Foot Locker what you were doing, what I was doing and he let me have them for what I had on me!" I thanked her profusely and then was forced to say, "Ma'am, I don't want to look the gift horse in the mouth but .... these shoes are a half size off and if you tell me where the store is I'll walk there and exchange them myself." She looked me straight in the eye and said, "That's the pair He told me to get .... you put 'em on and they'll fit!" And then she left. The cop looked at me and said, "I thought you said she was shy?!" I put 'em on and wore them all the way to the end of my journey at Cape Henlopen State Park in Delaware! They were the best fitting pair I wore during the entire 4,858 mile journey! "Just A Nice Guy" I soon realized I had to go back and finish the Appalachian Trail. I had to show my son that my life would go on and I had forgiven him. My son had intended to do the trail in 2000, so I would do his hike and finish mine in honor of him. I completely emerged myself in preparing for my completion of the "AT" and thus shortened some of my daily crying spells. The nights were still a frightening place to visit though. I became totally involved with my hike. I was determined to have the lightest backpack on the trail by researching and buying the lightest gear I could find. I stayed as busy as possible, keeping my mind occupied and and working to provide extra funds for my venture. I came up with the idea of my daughter joining me at the finish on Mt. Katahdin and she and I would do a thru-hike of the "AT" south. What is called doing a "flip-flop". My daughter was all for it. I felt it to be the perfect way for us to combat our grief and I would spend precious time with all that I had left .... my little girl. I got my backpack weight down from 50 pounds to 22 pounds! I had saved enough money to cover all my expenses while I was gone and to do the trail comfortably. My local paper ran a nice story on the loss of my son and my personal challenge of finishing the "AT". My daughter and my girlfriend, Jeanne, would be orchestrating my trip and sending my "mail drops" (food and supplies sent via post offices along the trail.) I was ready to go! April 1, 2000, I climbed off a Greyhound bus in the town of Tamaqua, Pennsylvania, the closest town with bus service, to where I had stopped my hike. Before I left, I had called the Tamaqua Chamber of Commerce to get information about available motels, etc. I told my story to a Chamber employee and why I was coming to Tamaqua. She requested I send her a copy of the article on me from my local paper. I did so and she sent me a map of their little town and where I was to pitch my tent. Tamaqua had no motel accommodations. I was to pitch my tent at the firefighters training ground. She included a note that the fire department would allow me to tent at the training grounds but I was not to build a fire? I was perplexed at this request... did not the firefighters pass their tests? The bus had arrived very early and I walked down to check on my designated tent site. It was not a nice spot, there was no level ground and it was quite far from everything. So I did what I always did when in doubt, I found a bar and had a couple shots of bourbon. After leaving the bar I started back toward the firefighters training ground. As I was passing the spot where the bus had dropped me off I heard someone yelling at me. I turned, and across the street there was a guy with bleached blonde hair standing next to a new Cadillac. He continued yelling, "Hey... yahooo, are you the hiker from Florida?" His mannerisms and the way he sounded to me... this guy was gay! And I am not! Why the hell is a sissy little gay guy with bleached blonde hair, yelling at me? And... he knows who I am! I slowly acknowledged him and nodded my head yes. With his left hand on his hip and his right hand doing that which I've always termed as "limp-wrist-ed", he shouts across the street, "Where have you been? I came here to meet the bus and you were not here! I have been looking all over for you!" His actions and voice were the stereotypical gay guy! I am totally bewildered and just stand there looking at him. I don't know what the hell to say to him! Then he starts waving his hand frantically ( and limply! ) for me to cross the street to his car. I was not in a hurry to do so... but I did... very reluctantly. He begins explaining to me, using more gestures that told me he was no doubt... gay, "I am the city manager for the city of Tamaqua, the director of tourism, and I am editor of our local paper. I took a look at where they want you to stay tonight and it is just not acceptable to me!" We now have one thing in common anyway. He continued, We have got to find you another place to spend the night!" I'm thinking, "It sures hell ain't gonna' be your place!" "Come on," he says, gesturing toward his new Caddy, "We are going to find you a nicer place to stay and tomorrow I will pick you up and take you to the Appalachian Trail. I also want to do a story on you for our paper." I figured he must be telling the truth or he wouldn't have known who I was, so... I climbed into the Caddy. He drove us to a convenience store with a nice level patch of ground next to it. and behind it was the Schuylkill River. The spot was far enough from the road for safety and quiet and was near enough to the store for morning coffee or what ever. It was the perfect spot. He informed me he had been looking for a nicer place for me over the last two days. He says, "Now I'll just go in the store and inform the girl working that you will be here for the night." I am starting to trust this flamboyant little guy... even with his feminine ways. He comes out of the store in a huff! "That dumb little bitch!" He says. "What a f---in' idiot she is... she says she is afraid to let you stay here, she is not sure whether the land belongs to her boss or not or if he would approve!" And then he says, "When I asked her to simply call her boss and find out, she told me she was afraid to bother him!" He stands there for a moment, obviously thinking on how to solve the problem. "You know," he says, "There is a possibility this land belongs to the city of Tamaqua... and I represent the city!" On that note, he marches back into the store. When he came back out I could see he was now in complete control of the situation. "Pitch your tent!" He says. "Oh, the land does definitely belong to the city?" I asked. "Hell I don't know, I just told her it did, f--- her, she's too chicken shit to call and find out!" He goes on, "The police officer on duty now is Bob, he already knows you are here and will check on you. At 11:00 p.m. Frank comes on duty and he will be checking on you also." I could certainly see how he was able to handle all the positions of responsibility he held. This little guy got things done! He continued, "I know that you have the rest of your gear waiting at the post office for you. They normally do not open until 8:00, but I have talked to them and they will let you in at 7:00. Just knock on the door and they will let you in. And you can stay there and get your gear together. I will pick you up from the post office, interview you in the car and drop you off at the "AT" trail-head." Just as he said, Bob came by, and then Frank. Both were extremely courteous and caring. Both men asked me to let their city manager know they had carried out his instructions to check on me. I sensed a deep respect from both, for their city manager. The kind of respect you have to earn! I knocked at the post office door at 7:00 a.m. and they led me to a table with my package sitting on it. I organized all my gear into my pack and looked out the window to see it pouring the rain... on a brand new Cadillac, waiting for me. When he saw me running for the car he jumped out in the cold pouring rain to assist me. He questioned me about my son and why I felt I had to finish the Appalachian Trail, interviewing me for his newspaper article. He was very thorough, patient, and understanding. As we were stopping at the trail-head for the "AT", he turned to me and said, "My brother committed suicide, I still haven't been able to forgive him! I am still so mad at him for breaking my heart!" The tears were streaming down his face. "I understand." I said. He continued on, "I am embarrassed to confess this, I have lived here my whole life and I had no idea where this trail was!" Then he looks me right in the eye and says, "I don't know anything about the trail, but I asked around and was told about this little trail here. Now this is not the actual "AT" trail-head, the official access point is just a couple hundred yards from here, over there on route 309. But I just thought it might be a little easier on you, not having to go to the exact spot where you first found out about your son." How ignorant of me... I had seen a gay guy instead of, a wonderful, sensitive, human being. He helped me get my gear from the car, he reached out to shake my hand, I surprised him and myself... I gave him a big hug instead! The story he wrote on me was one of the best ever done. "WHY?" It was Saturday, March 16, exactly one week after I had started a walk around the U.S. from the Florida Trail terminus just west of the Miccosukee tribal lands. Murphy's law was alive and well .... nothing was going to plan. I had just recieved word from my friend Larry Pesin that our pro-bono public relations firm had just deserted us! I made a joke of it, saying, "They must've been doin' one of those Readers Digest vocabulary enhancement quiz's and found out what pro-bono meant!" We both laughed it off, but I was starting to wonder if there was really any sense to me doing this walk. I prayed for a sign of some sort to show me if I should really be doing this walk .... I was starting to think I was just making an ass of myself! I had told my daughter and a couple other people, "If I can save one life, the walk around America will be worth it." A young lady in her early thirties pulled her car up to me and got out. She walked up to me and said, "I had to stop and tell you that your sign has helped me so very much!" I had barely said, "Why thank you!" before she turned, was in her car .... and gone! The next day, the same young lady approached me again and said, "I just could not leave Florida without telling you what seeing your sign did to me!" She began telling me she was from Colorado and was in Florida visiting her two little girls for the first time since she had lost them in a fierce custody battle. Her story was familiar; she was suing for divorce because the father was never home, never showed the proper interest in family, etc. But as soon as the divorce proceedings started, hubby all of a sudden had a change of face, he wanted custody of the girls. She was caught completely off guard! He had a great job and parents with tons of money who wanted those grand babies! You could tell she was a very shy person and did not like confrontation. Soon after he recieved custody he left with the babies for Florida, where the grandparents were. She then stopped talking and remained silent for a little while, as if she weren't sure she should share the rest of the story. She asked me to sit in her car with her and I did. When she did open her mouth again, she started sobbing, I mean, really sobbing! She started explaining to me between sobs, that, after visiting her babies a couple of days, she could not stand to leave them again and she felt she just couldn't live that way any longer! The day she had seen my sign she was on her way back to her motel room where she had already made all preparations for taking her own life! Through the tears she told me, "When I saw that sign, "LOVE LIFE" I actually had to turn around and go back and look at it four times! All I could think about after seeing the sign was if I took my life I would be depriving my girls of a fair shot at loving life!" She was crying so hard as she continued, "I became so ashamed of myself!" My daughter was about her same age and my heart was breaking for her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and was thanking me over and over. I explained to her that my son had committed suicide and by walking all over the U.S. with "LOVE LIFE" over my head, I was trying to remind all that see, we must "LOVE LIFE!" I told her she didn't have the right to take her own life ... it didn't belong just to her! It belonged to her children, her parents, her siblings, and her friends!! I also told her that others have a huge investment in her .... LOVE!!! We talked for a long time and she parted with a positive view that she was going back to Colorado with plans of quitting her job and moving to South Florida where her babies were. And I told her, "And if that son of a bitch moves with your kids to Antarctica......?" "Then I move to Antarctica!" she finished the sentence. She was laughing as she drove off. I gave her my daughters address and they stayed in touch for awhile .... she did indeed move to Florida where her babies were. And I recieved what I needed. "PATRIOTISM?" I was just outside Lakeland, Florida and the newspapers were announcing the start of the Iraqi war. A reporter from the local Lakeland paper was interviewing me on a street corner. While we were talking, a car came around the corner and the occupant yelled out something. I didn't hear it, I asked the reporter if he had heard it. The reporter, an African American, chuckled and said, "Well, the rednecks weren't yelling at me this time, they think you're protesting the war!" We both laughed at how ridiculous that was. And damn if it didn't happen again that evening. The very next morning I conveniently found an American flag at the side of the road that had blown off a car. A lot of people were flying them at that time. I thought maybe this would keep the dummies from thinking I was protesting their war. I was walking through the parking lot of a strip mall the very next day, proudly displaying my American flag, flying over my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign. A couple just in front of me were entering their pickup truck. The man looks up, sees me and immediately gets a scowl on his face. He says to me, "I love life .... but I love my freedom too!" Meanwhile, his wife is scrambling for the passenger door to get inside a fast as possible, knowing from experience that her husband was about to make an ass out of himself... again. I responded, "that's good sir." And with his skinny little chest popped out, he repeated, "I love my freedom too!" By now his poor wife is scrunched down in the seat, totally embarrassed, paying for the mistake she made many years before in the choice of a mate. And I'm thinking, "I am getting damn tired of people misinterpreting my sign" I said, "that's good sir, I love my freedom too, that's why I'm carrying this sign!" The little woman had disappeared under the dashboard. The little redneck is now totally bewildered, he has to come up with yet more vocabulary! And he did, he added to the previous statement, "I love my freedom too .... by God!!" I would have been impressed, but he was pissin' me off. I proceeded to explain to him, "Sir, I'm going to give you some advice that can change your whole life... when you get up in the morning, the very first thing you should do, reach back and ever so gently... pull your head out of your ass!" He just kind of grunted, jumped in his truck and slammed the door! I made my mind up right then and there, I was never going to worry again as to how others might perceive my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign! I personally feel it is a nice suggestion. What one thinks after they read it, I have absolutely no control over. I took the American flag off. I continued to pick the flags up every time I saw them though and after I finished my walk I gave them as souvenirs of my walk, to friends. "FORT APACHE" I was on state route 260 in Arizona within the Fort Apache Indian Reservation. I had stopped at a little store and gas station for a drink and snacks. I was sitting outside talking to three little Apache children who had been asking me questions about my walk. I thrive on such encounters. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an older Apache man watching me, he was probably in his middle seventies. After the children left, the old gentleman approached me. He had grey-black hair pulled back in braids, he was very distinguished looking. He asked what I was about and said he was taken by the fact I showed much patience with the little ones. He told me of the success of all five of his own children. He attributed it to the fact that he kept his family out in the country and away from the cities. He said they were raised up to not forget their heritage. I told him my story and he told me how much he appreciated my "LOVE LIFE" sign. We talked for quite awhile longer. When we were ready to part, he took my hand, gripped it hard and with tears in his eyes, he said, " I am proud of you!" It was so humbling, I hadn't expected to hear anything like that. And again he said, I am so proud of you!" I just stood there speechless, and with even more tears flowing, he said, "I am so very proud of you!" I couldn't believe his reaction to me and my story, it really caught me off guard! He turned and walked away, shaking his head. The next morning, in Show Low, Arizona, a young man asked if I would mind coming to his office for an interview for the local paper. After the interview I told him about the old Apache man crying and thanking me three times. The young man pulled away from his desk with a very solemn look on his face, then he looked down at the floor for a moment. When he raised his head back up he said, "I know why he did that." He hesitated a moment, he seemed to be struggling to continue. He said, "last year... thirty five young Apache men took their own life!" I called my friend Larry Pesin, who was orchestrating my journey and told him, "we have just recieved our most sincere compliment and to me, one of our most sacred." "LITTERBUGS SUCK!" When I walked across the U.S. in 2001, a newspaper reporter asked me if I was going to lobby for my cause when I reached Washington D.C. I told him if there was anything I would lobby for, it would be the death penalty for litter bugs! I mean, hell, I have to look at that crap strewed by the roadside for miles! And the way I see it, you would probably only have to kill a couple of them. Can't you just picture this scene: Two or three young jerks riding around in their car drinking beer, down goes the window, an arm cocks back to toss his empty out onto the roadside for you and I to look at, and one of them yells out, "Hey man, don't throw that out man! They fried Bobby's ass in the chair last year for doing that!" Littering would become a thing of the past. Okay, so now you know how I feel about littering. I was only about 25 miles into the state of Wisconsin on U.S. highway 2. I was just sauntering along loving life and suggesting the same to everyone else with my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign. All of a sudden I look up and am just able to duck as a large pizza box goes flying past my head! The box was full of paper and it was flying everywhere! Three young guys in an older white car zoomed on by me laughing and jeering. I was infuriated! I was stunned that they would try to harm me like that for no reason. As I stood there, I said a prayer out loud, "Dear God, I want those little pricks caught!" It was about two hours later and a deputy sheriff pulled his car up beside me. He asked for some identification and then said, "actually I've been looking for you, earlier today, did someone throw something at you?" I couldn't believe it! I told him yes. He continued, "Can you describe to me what was thrown at you?" "Yes sir!" I said, "It was a pizza box and it was full of trash!" he then asked me if I could describe the car they were in. I descibed the car to him. He had his radio mike in hand and said into it, "go ahead and book them, we have a confirmation." I just stood there totally shocked! The deputy explained to me, the car behind them had indeed been close enough to witness what had happened, and called in with their tag number. He said the gentleman had been totally irate when he called on his cell phone. They apprehended them in the next county he said. He was quite pleased they had been able to catch them, he said, "That's the reason those kind of morons pull that stuff, they figure they're going to get by with it. This time we got 'em!" I asked him if the state of Wisconsin had a stiff fine for littering, I was hoping they did. He said unfortunately they did not, but that it was left up to the judge. About three weeks later I was approached by a guy from the area where the littering incident occured. He told me he had read in his local paper about three men throwing trash at a man walking down the road with a "LOVE LIFE" sign. He said they were fined $750.00 apiece for littering! he also said they were charged with some sort of intent charge, but he couldn't remember what it was. And he said the judge really chewed them out. Cops love this story... so do I. "KEEP TELLIN' 'EM" I was in a good sized town in Northern Ohio, I had called the local paper and told them what I was doing. They asked me to stop by their building to be interviewed. I was sitting in the office of young lady reporter, maybe 30 years old. She was stunningly beautiful. I couldn't help but think about how wonderfully blessed this young lady was. She had looks, a great personality, and obviously a great job. Her expertise at interviewing was as good as any of the many interviews I've had. All in all, she was a delight to be around. She allowed me to fully express myself and I was able to really relay the devastation brought about by the self-centered act of suicide. As usual, when the interview was over, I asked that she send me a hard copy of the article. As we shook hands I expressed how I admired her for her obvious accomplishments. A couple weeks later I was on the phone checking in with my friend Larry. I asked if that particular newspaper had sent a copy of the article. He said that yes he recieved it but that wasn't all that was with it. He then said, "The reporter included a letter to you .... are you sitting down?" I'm glad I was sitting down because I could not believe what was in that letter! He read, "Dear Steve, I am so grateful that you walked into my office. I just had to let you know how your visit changed my life. Prior to that day, every single day was a day of hell for me. Every night I worked on getting up the courage to kill myself. I constantly was thinking of the best and easiest way to do it. I had no idea at the time, how very selfish I was being! Thank you." The letter went on and told of how she was intent on pulling herself together. Wow! I had no idea! See, I guess I'll just have to keep on telling EVERYONE to .... "LOVE LIFE"! "We Never Know Who?" I was in a New England state sitting in a little roadside park, part of an old one room school house restoration project. A car pulled up and an older lady got out and walked up to me with food in her hands. She explained that she and the driver, her daughter, had spotted me earlier. She insisted that they return to her home and prepare some food for me. She was so excited about my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign. And in an accent I guessed to be German, she kept telling me how very wonderful my sign was! She told me she was born in 1937 and that she loved life very much! I thanked them for the food and they left. Later that evening the mother and daughter stopped along side me and gave me more food, Again, the sweet mother applauded my "LOVE LIFE" sign and kept telling me what I was doing was truly wonderful. The next morning the same lady came up to me and this time she had her granddaughter with her. She explained that she had insisted the granddaughter meet me. The young lady asked if they could give me a ride. And before I could give the usual, "no thank you." the grandmother interjected, "oh no sweetheart! No, this man must walk and display this sign!" She then took my hand and just kept rubbing and patting it as she again praised what I was doing. As I was telling her how much I appreciated her kindness, and while still holding hands, her coat sleeve pulled up, revealing the numbers tatooed on her wrist! I called my good friend, Larry Pesin, who orchestrated my walk around the U.S. and told him of the lady with the numbers tatooed on her wrist. It was a long moment before he spoke, he said, "Steve, thank you!" My friend Larry is Jewish. "PERSPECTIVE" Christmas Eve, 2004, I was walking in the "Outer banks" of North Carolina near the town of Elizabeth City. A gentleman stops his car along side me and wanted to know why I was carrying a sign that said, "LOVE LIFE." So I told my story. I could see that he was very touched by what he heard. He asked me if I would like to join him and his family for Christmas. At first I declined, explaining that I usually spent Christmas alone when out on the road. The reason, it was just too hard on me emotionally and so I hid from it. But he would not let it go and kept insisting I go home with him! I finally said yes. They had a very modest home in a remote area. His wife was lovely and gracious. His little boys were five and nine and were good looking little fellas. They were both intelligent and were both quite well mannered. They both had cancer!! The five year old had recently been diagnosed as in remission. The nine year old however, began explaining to me his dilemma as to what his final choice would be for the "Make a Wish Foundation". He was quite happy. He said to me, "The doctor told me I could die from my disease, but I'm not afraid because I have the best daddy in the world and he would never let anything bad happen to me!" Daddy was standing in the doorway behind him .... the tears were streaming down daddy's face. Christmas morning, the two giggling boys woke me up, they had to, I was sleeping on a mat near the tree, next to the gifts! They joyously handed me my very own Christmas gift. It was quite humbling. They were living on a single income; one parent has to stay home. They were strapped by medical expenses and they have to face 'that fear' every day! They still put their own problems away long enough to be kind and generous to a perfect stranger! I stayed three days, the father and I became quite good friends. He drove me back out to the highway and sent me on my way. I left with a pack full of food and a heart that would never be the same! A few days later on New Years day, I stopped for a big treat I had promised myself. I had put back money for this big day. Staying in a motel was always a big treat; I usually camped along side the road somewhere. This motel stay was really going to be special though! I am an avid Florida Gator football fan! They were playing Miami in a bowl game, and I had been unable to watch even one of their games all year. I checked into the motel after I insisted they prove ESPN was available through their cable service. I was so excited! My first Gator game in a year! The game started at 7:30 pm. I made all the preparations; ran (really ran) to the store for beer and potato chips. I took my shower and then got all snuggled in and was catching up on scores from other games. About 7:00 pm the motel owner knocked on my door and in broken English, starts explaining that due to remodeling they would be cutting off the electricity that evening! He told me I could leave then and he would give my money back. It was already dark, I was walking, where was I to go!? I was very dissappointed and quite upset! About fifteen minutes into the game .... lights out! Next morning, I am prepared to tell the owner he should give my money back and I was not happy with the way he conducted business! I would chew him out proper! I reached into my pack to retrieve my reciept, and came out with something much unexpected. Those two beautiful little boys had put a picture of themselves in my pack. I sat and stared at it quite awhile. A football game! I was genuinely ashamed! I was upset over a stupid football game! I took my key to the front desk and while the owner was being yelled at by two other guests, I apologized for having been curt the night before. I told him I sympathized with his problem and that I knew it was out of his control. I did not ask for money back. He was very thankful and insisted I take ten dollars back. Perspective .... perspective. "BILL IN ARIZONA" I was on an Arizona highway walking toward the traffic as usual and displaying my beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign as usual. A man pulled off the road in front of me waiting until I came up beside him. He introduced himself ass Bill and told of having been observing me for days. He said he had wanted to approach me earlier but had kept talking himself out of it. He admitted his self arguments, I had heard them all before from others. "He's just a homeless guy, why bother?" 'i don't know anything about him he could be a criminal." And so on. He made some small talk and then became real serious; it was was plain to see he was distraught. He started pouring out his story. His wife, his childhood sweetheart succumbed to cancer two years before. He was left with a thirteen year old daughter. He belonged to a strict fundamentalist type pentecostal church. To help deal with his grief he became very involved in his church. There was a lady there who immediately started showing interest in Bill and his daughter. He was thinking of how much his little girl was going to need a mother, etc., etc. And even though his little girl didn't like her they became involved and were soon married. They had been married a little over a year and he was miserable. His daughter was miserable and hated the new step-mother. Also, he found oyt soon after marriage, she had been married several times before! He told me he was full of guilt because he wanted to divorce her. She didn't want a divorce and told him it would be a sin and she went to their pastor. The pastor told him to just keep praying and God would work it out and divorce was not an option for he would be doomed for eternity if he left that loving and innocent Christian woman! This man totally broke down in front of me. He was sobbing; he was in such turmoil and pain! What terrible stress he was under; trying to do what he was told God wanted and and what was in his heart! He was spilling his heart out to a total stranger at the side of the road! He began telling why he had stopped me. A lady in in his church, a friend of his deceased wife, told him of seeing me and my "LOVE LIFE" sign on the road. She said, on seeing me she thought of him and felt that I may have encouraging words for him. She told him this after he had seen me more than once himself. He went on to say that he too had felt very strongly to stop and speak with me. He said he took her words as a sign of confirmation and so... here he was. He began to question me, "Are you a man of God?" "Absolutely." I answered. I figured since I believe in God, that was a legitimate answer. "You pray and have God in your life?" Bill asked. "Totally!" I confidently replied. He seemed to be struggling to put his mind at ease that it was okay to be confiding in a stranger. "Are you born again?" He asked. "No, but I am working on that one." I said. That answer seemed to satisfy him. He began crying again and said, "Please help me! Please!" I said to this poor broken man, "What do you, deep down in your heart feel that God wants you to do?" He couldn't answer, he just shook his head. I went on, "Do you really feel that God will punish you for trying to bring peace to you and your little girls life?" He finally stammered out, "No I don't!" I looked him right in the eye and said, "You know a whole lot more about what God wants in your life than that pastor does!" You made a mistake, you were in a weakened state of grief and you made a bad choice! You were under the pressure of having to raise a teenage daughter by yourself and made a bad decision... that's all! You and your daughter deserve to be happy!" That poor desperate man was absorbing every word I uttered! I went on to say, "Now go undo your mistake and get a divorce!" You and your little girl get on with your life!" Bill immediately calmed down. I reassured him that it would be fine with God, that everything would work out for the good. I told him to go on and enjoy life! We stayed in touch and Bill went on to get a divorce. As I came to know Bill a little better I realized he was a well educated and intelligent professional. It is amazing what emotional strain can do to one. Bill insisted on donating money to my cause and he told many that I had helped him. One night he called and said, "Steve, you know how God has used you to help stop some from taking their own life? Well, he has done it again!" He stated relating the story. His daughter was being abused by the step-mother. She was afraid to tell him, afraid he wouldn't believe her. She had only recently made him aware of the abuse and that she had been thinking suicide as the only way out! "DICK" I was in a little town in South Carolina, standing just in front of me was a very skinny and strange little guy with a very scraggly and long beard. He was holding a stack of pamphlets. The closer I got to him, the stranger his demeanor. I looked around to see where he might have laid his "THE END IS NEAR!" sign. As soon as I was close enough, he stepped right in front of me and I had to look directly in his face! I swear, I think his eyes were spinning! He asked, "Do you love life?" I grunted, "Yeah." I almost said, "No, I'm carrying this sign for someone else!" And walked on by. He reached out to hand me his propaganda, I glanced down, "What Is God's Real Name?" it read. I declined to accept it and started to continue on. "Don't you care what God's real name is?" He asked. And instead of saying, "NO!" and continuing on past him, I made the decision to show the mentally ill how really smart I was. I said, "You are probably going to tell me his name is Yahweh... right?" And with eyes seemingly spinning even more now, he defiantly yelled, "His name is Yahweh!" Finally realizing my mistake, I stepped around him and started forward. He jumped back in front of me of course, nobody could be that demented and have manners too. Now the strange little guy is really upset as he accuses, "I'll bet you don't even believe in Yahweh?!!" And yet again, I put myself on his level and said, "Actually I do believe in a supreme being." He shouts, "What do you think his name is then, if it ain't Yahweh... huh?" Then I really added fuel to the fire and said, "I don't know what his or her name is and I don't give a shit!" His face turned so red he looked like he would explode! I figured I might as well go ahead, light the fuse and finish 'em off, so I said, "I've cussed him out and called him all kinds of names and I don't think he gives a damn what we call him, just as long as we're a callin'!" He yells at me. "How would you like it if I didn't call you by your real name, huh?" I stepped around him, finally showing enough sense to ignore him and walk on. Instead of following me, he decides to just yell louder, "What is your name?" I kept walking and ignoring, he of course... kept yelling, "what is your name? Is it Dick?" He asked, really loud! "That's it!" He screamed, "Your name is Dick!" I know I asked for it, I engaged him, but it was still embarrassing. I already had enough attention with "LOVE LIFE" mounted over my head. Now, I was in the middle of town with this skinny little weird looking guy yelling as loud as he could, "Hey everybody, that's Dick!" It sounded even louder as he yelled, "Yup, there goes Dick!" And, "Hey Dick!," "See ya' Dick!" and, "Goodbye Dick!" I kept on walking and he kept on yelling, "Hey Dick!" Probably until I was out of hearing range. He's probably still on that corner yelling, I think I still hear 'im sometimes, "Hey Dick!" And I also hear, "If you had just taken the little guys pamphlet and respectively listened to him a minute or two... you probably would not have been so embarrassed... DICK!" "Wealth in The Mountains" I had a friend who is very, very wealthy. We had been friends for sixteen years. A few years after the death of her companion, she and I started dating. We eventually decided I would leave my tiny rented apartment on the beach and move into her huge mansion on the beach. Two of her five bathrooms were the size of my whole apartment. There was a Lexus and a Jaguar in the garage and a beautiful luxurious motor-home in the huge circular drive. There was a huge enclosed pool with a view of the beautiful canal that went straight to the Inter-coastal Waterway, the Indian River. There was a dock which had a boat lift which held a very expensive and brand new speed boat. My own personal bathroom had a view of all this and direct access to the pool. I had my own office and pretty much whatever else I could ever want. This is where we would spend our winters in Florida. For the summers we went to the beautiful Appalachian Mountains in North Georgia. To a beautiful cottage snuggled in the mountains with several acres of land and sitting on a lovely brook. Over the lovely brook was a picture perfect, white painted foot bridge like artist are so fond of adding to outdoor scenes. The real appeal for me was that it was only a few miles from the Appalachian Trail. I hiked on it every chance I got. There was also a new Jeep at my disposal and I was able to explore the mountains. I particularly loved to be in them after a rain and during a light drizzle. The fog comes in and they are so hauntingly beautiful! Our personality differences started to surface when upon seeing the Georgia property, I asked, "Where are the chickens?" My roots are in Southeastern Kentucky, we believe in chickens whenever possible to have them. Why would you not want chickens out in the country? She later found great humor in sticking a couple decorative metal roosters in the yard in front of the house. She asked me after I first saw them, " You don't like them do you? Why don't you like them?" I answered, "Those are roosters, there ain't gonna' be no eggs!" A few days later I saw that she added two metal chickens. I still wanted live chickens but I did not want to seem the prude, so I placed some big steel ball bearings under the chickens. In both Vero Beach and in Georgia, we attended many benefit functions, concerts, etc. I was able to see and do so many wonderful things that I wouldn't normally had been able to afford, or even know about for that matter. My friend was very good to me. She was a very generous person and I personally watched her help allot of people and donate to many worthy causes. She particularly believed in helping those who are down. I don't think, what I considered being pressure from her would have been considered such by most men. Especially given the lap of luxury that was included in the situation. But for about six years prior to our relationship, I had been walking the United States and was in solitude much of the time. I had come to be quite content with my own company. I had come to never disagree with... me. I always wanted to do the exact same things that I wanted to do. There was never an argument. In short... I had come to be quite fond of me and thoroughly enjoyed being with me. After a few months, I felt as though she was expecting a different me. Sorry, this is the only one I have. And she most definitely could not understand my need for absolute solitude while working on my book. Early on, she voiced a dislike of something in me that I felt I could not change. She felt I could change 'cause it wasn't what she liked in a man. I answered as gentlemanly as I could with, "If you are unhappy with our relationship, I will leave without any animosity whatever any time you want me to." She rolled her eyes slightly but gave no answer. One rainy night in Georgia (Gladys Knight and the Pips) she was exasperated over my being out in the luxurious motor-home trying to write my book instead of staying in the small cottage. She just could not understand how the very loud sounds of "Desperate Housewives" could possibly interfere with my writing. She had a hearing problem as a result from face-lift surgery. She had to have things very loud. I was becoming increasingly miserable due to such encounters, so I once again told her that I could leave anytime she wished. To which she, in her frustration with me, answered, "Why don't you just do that!" Well, I don't think she really meant it but it didn't matter, it was my cue (don't need to discuss much, no need to be coy Roy, just get yourself free.~ Paul Simon)! I spent the rest of the night packing my backpack and dug out my trusty and beautiful "LOVE LIFE" sign and prepared for blast off the next morning! My soon-to-be ex-companion was having coffee with her friend from Florida who was visiting for a few days. Great! I did not have to worry about leaving her alone. I stooped down in front of her and said, "Honey, you have been nothing but good to me and I want you to know that I appreciate it so very much! You have been wonderful to me, but now I gotta go!" She looked stunned and said nothing. Her friend, on the other hand, looked concerned and asked, "Will you be okay? To which I answered, "I am always okay!" I had my pack on my back with tent, sleeping bag, and whatever other bare necessity I felt I could carry and up the mountain I went! And even though I left an awful lot of my personal belongings behind... I was absolutely elated! I was once again... free! Halfway up her very long and steep driveway I actually jumped up in the air and clicked my heels together! Quite the feat for my 60-year-old body with a forty-five pound backpack. That night as I lay in my tent and pondered the days events, I realized that was not the kind of wealth I was looking for. A few nights later it came to me even clearer, "wait a minute, I'm not looking for wealth at all, I'm already wealthy!" A few weeks later, after I had walked to my sisters home in Cincinnati, I recieved a call from my good friend Mark in Maine. I had forgotten that Mark and Susan were coming to visit me in Georgia as they would be nearby in Clemson, South Carolina visiting his son. I felt terrible as I explained I had walked away and of course, was no longer there for their visit. Marks answer, "Wow, it must be great being you?" What a wonderful compliment, one I needed to hear. MODEL T IN PENNSYLVANIA I had just crossed over from Ohio into Pennsylvania and was hoping to find a convenience store or restaurant for coffee and breakfast. I try to kill two birds with one stone when I can and ask to charge my cell phone while I am eating. I came upon a little country store. As I was unloading my backpack and beautiful “LOVE LIFE” sign, I glanced in the window to see the owner/operator staring at me with a scowl on her face. I entered the store and asked the stern faced lady if she had coffee. She nodded her head and pointed to an area behind me. As I was preparing to pay for my coffee I inquired as to the nearest restaurant. “Three miles straight ahead” the owner said. There were two men standing to the left of me, and one of them said, “She can make you a mighty fine breakfast sandwich right here.” I looked at the owner and asked if she could prepare a sausage and egg sandwich for me? She simply nodded and I told her then that I would like to have one. She came out from behind the counter and started for wherever it was she prepared food. As she passed by me I said, “Oh excuse me ma’am, would you mind if I plugged in my cell phone and charged it while I am eating.” She turned and replied, “No! You can not!” I was certainly surprised; I couldn't remember that ever happening before. One of the men spoke up and said, "Ann, it doesn’t take hardly any juice at all to charge a phone.” But the lady remained adamant about not allowing me to charge the phone. I told her very nicely I would then, have to cancel the sandwich and explained that when walking everywhere time is very important and I conserve time by doing two things at once. I told her I would simply walk the three miles to the closest restaurant and just charge my phone there while I was eating. The store owner was clearly aggravated that she had made the 15-foot trip for nothing. One of the gentlemen offered to take my phone to his house and charge it for me. I thanked him and declined. No more than five minutes after I started walking again, a young lady pulled her car over and walked up to me . In her hand was a fresh made turkey sandwich made with thick slices of turkey with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. She was very excited about giving it to me, she explained that it had been intended for her lunch. She insisted on my taking the sandwich with the explanation that she would just buy something else at her work place. The sandwich was delicious! I had just finished eating the sandwich and I noticed off to my left an old man under a carport working on a Ford Model T open touring car. I yelled out a, "Good Morning" and he turned and motioned for me to cross the road to where he was. He immediately began telling me the history of his car and the entire history of Ford Model T's. The wonderful machine had been in his family since new and still had some of the original paint on it. An uncle of his, a doctor had purchased it new and used it to service his patients in the area. My new friends name was Chuck Dickey and he had been born on the property we were standing on, in 1919. Chuck was 89! He was a big man and seemed to be in perfect health. Chuck was delighted with my “LOVE LIFE” sign and said he thought it to be a good endeavor. He then demonstrated his own obedience to my sign when he stated, “I’m going to crank ‘er up and we’re going for a ride." I had heard stories of people who had actually had their arms broken while trying to hand crank a Model T! Chuck bent down to crank and explained to me, “I’ll probably have to give ‘er a couple cranks before the one that’ll actually start ‘er.” Sure enough, she started putting on the third crank! Chuck was smiling big, you could see that he got joy every time he cranked ‘er up. As he was removing tools and other obstructions from our path, I remembered my cell phone. “Hey Chuck” I said, “Would it be possible to charge up my cell phone before we leave?” “Not a problem!” He yelled over the sound of the “Tin Lizzie”. Chuck then proceeded to uncoil and walk a 100 foot extension cord around old car and tractor parts and then through a window of his small home. When he came out of the house from plugging the cord in, he rubbed the palms of his hands together a couple times signifying he was finished and said, “There, no problem!” He took me on a guided tour of the beautiful Pennsylvania countryside, most of which had changed little or none, according to Chuck. The interior of the “T” was surprisingly quite confined. So, every time that Chuck used his elbow to emphasize something, making sure I acknowledged it… it hurt like hell! But I didn’t complain, it was all part of the wonderful experience. Once back at Chuck’s farm which had been in his family for three generations, we toured the farm property. He had several antique tractors and later in his home he proudly showed off his restored collection of cast iron tractor and farm implement seats. Chuck had been a pilot since youth and had delivered air mail. His father had actually delivered mail by air when they picked it up via a hook while flying and not having to touch down. Back at his house as Chuck handed me fmy ully charged phone, we both agreed we had enjoyed ourselves tremendously. I left the company of Chuck Dickey with a bounce in my step and gratitude for the store owner who wouldn’t let me charge my phone. Chuck had explained to me that he had already worked on his “T” for a half hour and that he only worked on it about an hour each day. If I had eaten a sandwich at the store while my phone was charging, I would have not met Chuck, and I would not have enjoyed a fresh turkey sandwich! Thank God for the ladies bad mood, or perhaps she was always like that. That’s really none of my business and I’m convinced that had I become angered and brooded over her attitude, I would not have been so blessed. I have, by the way, learned this fact the hard way. We do indeed reap what we sow. Over the next few days, every time I felt the soreness in my left side, I smiled and thought of the smiling and laughing Chuck Dickey elbowing me and most definitely... getting his point across. "Careful What Ya' Ask For" I can't remember how many times I have heard a preacher warn, "You better be very careful what you ask God for!" Well, I very regrettably, forgot that rule of thumb. And I also didn't realize the size of my ego when I asked God for what I thought I rightfully deserved. I rightfully deserved it alright... much more than I knew! I was somewhere in Eastern Maryland getting very close to ending my first walk across the United States. I found myself longing for female companionship. I was convinced I needed a female companion and that was the only thing really missing in my life. I was evidently convinced that I had earned the right to ask God for such. This is the prayer I put before God as I stopped walking and looked toward the heavens: "Hey God, ya' know I've walked all the way across the United States and I think I deserve some recognition here on this request (can you believe the ego?). I want me a woman!" And then I thought deep about the perfect woman for me (the one I really deserved). God, I want me a good woman who believes in God. And ya' know what... I ain't never had me no redhead! I want me a redhead!" And after even deeper thought, I added, "I want me one with big tits! Hey, and if she had a little bit a' money... that would be okay too!" I swear, I really did possess the audacity to pray that prayer! Well, I finished my walk across the U.S. about two weeks later. I had been home for about three weeks just plain ol' basking in what a great thing I (me, me, me) had accomplished. I was at a Christian coffee house gathering (mistakenly thinking that to be the only environment to find a woman of God) and I spotted a beautiful redhead! And guess what she had? Yup, this gorgeous redhead had... BIG TITS! I had actually met her at a church dance just before I left to walk across America. She was then dating another, so I hadn't pursued my interest in her. She recognized me also and she knew I had just finished the walk across the country, in other words (mine), she really knew how great I was. We started conversing and I was totally charmed by her (and her big...). After the coffee house closed we went to a restaurant where we drank coffee and talked until 3:00 in the morning! The next day she called and invited me to her place for sushi. When I arrived at her beautiful three story beach house right on the ocean... I realized that God had even heard the part about "if she had a little money..." Wow, God answered my prayer! How special I must be! We had a wonderful time talking of life and our relationships with God and everything was just peachy! God had given me MY perfect woman... which I had personally ordered. We started spending lots of time together and I spent many nights at her home. One (two) of her BIGGEST assets I discovered had recieved help from a doctors scalpel. That was fine with me. Here in Florida, us "rednecks" call it a "lift-kit", you know, like what you put on your four-wheel drive pick up truck to raise it up higher. They (the trucks) also get much more attention when you raise them (the trucks) up. I also discovered her resources came from having married a gentleman much older than her. Not long after marriage, the old gentleman had succumbed to cancer. That had been three years before and she was still in a legal battle with his children over his vast holdings. She also told of how she had to explain to him that he couldn't possibly really love her if he wanted her to sign prenuptial agreements. He agreed, and at the time, so did the other moron now sitting in front of her. I spent three months with her and I spent more money on her than I had spent on even the poorest woman I had ever dated. While we were dating she was in my office one day and spotted my new, really expensive treadmill. "Oh Steve, honey I need one of those so bad, do you think I could borrow that for a little while?" "Well of course you can honey!" Answered the schmuck. Had I said, "Buy your own bitch!" I would still have a very nice treadmill. Upon our breakup, she insisted I had given her the treadmill as a gift. I'm going to let you see what a schmuck really is ( even New Yorkers will be shocked! ) and divulge this; she actually said to me after many, many, VERY expensive flower arrangements I had sent to her three story beach house, "Steve honey, these flowers are very nice, but there is coming a time when you might want to start visiting jewelry stores." Yup, and the schmuck dated her for about three more weeks and then SHE dropped the schmuck! It took me all of about three weeks to get over her. It probably would have been sooner had I got my treadmill back. She did however, give back a gator head from a large gator my son and I had killed. She had borrowed it to show to her family. She insisted on giving it back 'cause she said it reminded her of how unrefined I was... "burp!' For some strange reason I no longer had any desire to have a relationship and was quite happy being all by myself... "burp!" And I started happily planning with my daughter, my walk around the states. I started walking Vero Beach's beautiful long boardwalk (a treadmill would have been nice) both mornings and of the evening. It had been nearly a year since my relationship had ended and I was doing my evening walk . Out of the corner of my eye I saw a white Porsche pull up very close to the board walk. From the Porsche came a familiar voice which said very softly and sweetly, "Steve." I caught just the slightest glimpse of red hair and I remembered the voice having told me she was planning to buy herself a new Porsche after her legal battle was over. I stopped just long enough to say, "Gwendolyn, If I never learned anything else walking across America... I did certainly learn this, I never ever go backwards!" And then I went home and searched the want ads for a used treadmill. “Poetic Justice!" I was in Waco, Texas and staying at the home of a couple who had invited me down to escape the foul winter weather of Washington state. A nice reprieve from walking in snow blizzards in the Cascades. I had been in their home for a few weeks when I found myself becoming more and more, a captive audience for my hostess’s father-in-law. He was some sort of spiritual adviser and had his own church. They believed in out-of-body experiences and lots of other mystical and so-called spiritual stuff. I personally will believe in anything one can prove to me. I really try not to discredit anything I haven’t investigated. The father-in-law though, was of the type who felt one should believe in all he believed… just because he said so! In other words, “He was a total pain in the ass!” Wanting to be a respectful and appreciative guest, I endured his preachings. One day, while boringly enduring another of his lectures of pure dogma, he pointed to a chair and said, “I can become the same molecules as that chair and enter that chair as a part of it.” “Damn!” I thought, “This A-hole really is nuts!” He stood there looking at me as though I should fall down and worship him, and was obviously anticipating my astonished and revered response. My response was... “Why?” I could see he was exasperated at my honest answer. I'm sure, behind that smug look, he was chalking it up as pure stupidity, and he should have known better to expect anything other from someone like me. Which in layman terms means, he didn’t have an answer. The couple I was staying with, had a nine-year-old son. The son had a musical presentation going on at his school. The parents were unable to attend (none of my business, but… ) and they asked me to take the young man and attend on their behalf. Of course, I complied. The event was a tribute to military marching compositions, featuring the works of John Philip Sousa. There was a large Air Force base near the school. The show was a joy to watch; of course the children were precious. The Guru of Chair Molecules was present to watch his grandson perform. For the finale of the program, they chose to honor the military members and veterans in attendance. They did this by asking each person qualified, to stand as the march pertaining to their branch of service was played. Upon standing, one of the young participants would bring a certificate of appreciation to them, along with a very sweet, “Thank you.” I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Spiritual Advisor was squirming in his chair. I then remembered an earlier conversation with his son and the mentioning of ‘conscientious objector’ and something about Canada. The reason it was vague in my memory, I had decided years before, I had no right to judge those who took that route. I have a couple good friends who did so... none of my business. I was 17 when I volunteered and had no thought of Viet Nam or anything else. Later in my tour, I did volunteer for Nam several times though. I am now glad they never sent me. Anyway, each military march they played, the more he squirmed in his chair. Evidently, he had not fully come to terms with his past decision and was obviously uncomfortable in his present surrounding. When they played the marches for the Air Force and Army, several stood up and the little ones delivered the certificates. And then came the best of them all… the Marine Corps hymn, “Semper Fidelis”, it was all I could do to restrain myself from standing instead of waiting for “Anchors Away”! I looked past the squirming Guru and scanned the auditorium for proud marines… there was only one. SHE, was standing right next to Oh Squirming One! She was very short of stature, but certainly not short of pride! She looked around, saw she was the only one, and made up for it with her display for The Proud, The Brave, The Marines! She pushed her chest out as far as she could and stood so erect and so very, very, proud! It still gives me goose bumps when I picture that little lady looking so very tall! Now he really squirmed! And then came my turn, “Anchors Away" blasted out and that is exactly what I did! My ass shot out of that chair like a rocket! I don’t think I out did the little Marine but I did my very best! I was proudly standing there waiting for the sweet little girl to bring me my certificate of appreciation and I saw that she was struggling to get past the Guru of Chair Entering and so I gave her a helpful suggestion, “Just give it to him honey.” And she did… he had to hand me my certificate of appreciation! He was trying to become a part of that chair, not with his mind… but with his ass! If I never gained another thing from my four years, four months, eighteen days, four hours , thirty six minutes, and seven seconds in the U.S. Navy, I will always be satisfied with that moment of poetic justice! “Didn't Get Scalped” While having breakfast one morning in a little café along Rt. 2 in North Dakota I was answering questions from some locals. You don’t see a guy walking down the road every day toting a sign over his head that said, “LOVE LIFE”. All of them warned me against walking across Native lands of the Blackfoot Tribe. They explained to me, the Indians were not good people and would rob and possibly even kill me for a few dollars to buy drugs and booze. They also warned me not to walk through the Blackfoot town of Browning at night time. One man warned that they are a very dangerous people and said, “They aren’t like us!” I took what they said with a grain of salt, I had walked across many Native lands and had never been treated poorly. Quite to the contrary actually, many were the times a Native American would stop to offer up prayers for me. Many stopped and said, “May the Great Father be with you.” I had sit in their sweat lodges and spent the night in their homes. I had been given tobacco pouches and even had sacred tobacco scattered on my behalf. Indians had always welcomed what I was doing. I explained this to the locals but they insisted the Blackfoot were dangerous. The next morning I entered Browning, North Dakota and within an hour I had been invited to stay in two different homes. I declined, as I had saved up money for a motel room of which I was way over-due. I most generally preferred a motel room to a private residence. I had more privacy and didn’t have to worry about imposing. I found the Blackfoot to be a wonderful people and a fine looking people as well. I had found a lost billfold along side the road belonging to a Robert Kickingwoman. I turned it over to the Blackfoot Tribal Police. The officer assured me he would find the rightful owner. I had to laugh when he said, “Yeah, there are a lot of those Kickingwoman around here.” Several weeks later at Bemidji, Minnesota, I met a former Chairman of the White Earth Tribe of the Ojibwa people, Doyle Turner, who is also an Episcopal Priest. Doyle is a fine looking Indian man with long braids and a very distinguished and wise look about him.. I related to Doyle how some white people had warned me of the possible danger associated with Native American encounters. When I told him one man had said, “They aren’t like us.” Doyle chuckled and responded with, “You know, that’s quite the compliment… really.” "Do Too! Do Not!" It was a beautiful Sunday Spring morning and I was walking in Northern Ohio. Near Akron, I believe. One of those new Harley Davidson V-Rods designed by Porsche zoomed past me. They were newly released then and I thought they were just beautiful! Only a moment later, the fine looking machine rolled up beside me. He had turned around to check out my "LOVE LIFE" sign. I said, "Good morning sir!" He was a nice looking man, maybe forty and sporting a well groomed beard. He very softly said, "Love life huh? I hate life." "No you don't." I answered. "I do so." He said. "You do not!" I came back with. "Yes I do!" He replied. "You do not!" "I do too!" "Do not!" I swear, there we were, two grown men standing out in broad daylight arguing, "Do too!" and "Do not!" like two little kids! I finally broke the chain with, "You do not hate life, if you did you wouldn't be out here on this wonderful morning on this beautiful motorcycle enjoying the wind in your face!" He seemed to ponder what I said and then he answered, "I don't know how I could ever love life?" I told him, "Look, someone or something has hurt you very badly. You have to forgive and forget and go on... that is how you will begin to love life... again." He just nodded his head and said, "I'm not sure." "I am." I said. "You go on and you realize that you do, and are loving life. You let that hurt go and let it die in the past where it belongs. You go love life." He actually smiled a little and said, "I'll try." And then he turned around and rode off on that beautiful machine... lucky bastard! "That's A Good Sign" I was in front of a little strip mall, near Eagar, Arizona, I believe. I was waiting for the return of a kind young man who had gone to his fathers junk yard to see if he could find a couple old bike wheels for me. I really needed replacements for the old ones on the cart I pulled behind me. I was sitting there on the sidewalk leaning up against the wall of a hardware store and I heard someone shout, "There he is! There's the love life guy!" I turned my head to see two ladies with four children. The kids were probably eight to fourteen years old. They were all laughing and one of the women said to me, "We saw you walking on the highway yesterday, and you changed our whole day!" Actually , you saved our day!" chimed in the other lady. They told me their story. The two ladies were sisters and there had been bad blood between them for years. They had decided just a few days before via the telephone to try to end their differences. So, two days before, the one living there in Arizona had picked up the other who had flown in with her two children from Florida. They said things were going a little rocky on the road to reconciliation. And then, the previous day while riding down the road, the children got into a pretty bad argument in the back seat. Each mother took the side of their respective off-spring! The two sisters started arguing! An hour or so later, the arguing had stopped, but you could cut the tension with a knife they said. No one was talking at all and then one of the kids said, "What's that?" They all looked straight ahead to see me walking down the road toward the traffic with a big, beautiful sign over my head, "LOVE LIFE"! All of them read it aloud as soon as they were close enough! All of them started laughing. The two sisters began telling me how silly each of them felt for allowing the dissension to take place. They thanked me for showing them what they were supposed to be doing instead of harboring bitterness. How very silly when you can instead... "LOVE LIFE"! "You Will Not!" I was early into Pennsylvania during my walk from Blairsville, Georgia to Surry, Maine. A large truck, the refrigerated type, generally used for local deliveries, pulled up next to me. A man, probably in his mid forties, exited the truck and walked up to me. "You love life... huh?" He asked, and before I could answer, he added, "Man I am not loving life!" By now his lips were trembling. I motioned him to the other side of his truck away from the traffic, for more privacy. He started crying, "Man, I don't wanna' live anymore!" Let me explain why this has happened to me so many times during my walks; Let's say you are at the worse place emotionally you have ever been in your life. So low a place, you are even considering taking your own life! You have never been more miserable, when all of a sudden, there, walking down the road, is some dingbat with "LOVE LIFE" over his head. This is the opposite end of the emotional spectrum and you are so desperate you may think, "Hey, maybe this guy knows something, maybe he can help me?" No one really wants to die when they're in those dire straits, they just can't see beyond the pain. The desperation in the man's voice was certainly obvious. I told him firmly, "You are not going to kill yourself!" But I just don't want to live anymore!" He said. I continued on, "Let me tell you who I am and why you are not going to take your life!" I went on to tell him of my son's suicide and my daughters death from an accidental overdose. I told him I carried "LOVE LIFE" over my head because I wanted no one else to stop loving life long enough to do what my son and daughter did. I could see I now had his attention somewhat? I told him also, "You didn't meet me by accident!" I could see a little surprise in his face and he had calmed some. He started telling his story. He had been cheating on his wife of many years and he got caught. She left him and was now suing for divorce. She only recently had moved in with a new boyfriend. And she would not even consider his pleas for her to forgive him and give him a second chance. He was devastated. He mentioned suicide again in saying, "I just don't want to live any longer!" His head was hanging in self pity. "You know," I said, "We really don't have the right to take our own life... it doesn't belong just to us. Our life also belongs to others, those others who love us. He seemed to consider this a little, and then said, "I guess it would really hurt my 19-year-old daughter and 22-year-old son?" That's when I really let him have it... with both barrels! And I really had his attention this time with the tone of my voice,"Who in the hell do you think you are? Why do you think you have the right to destroy your children's lives? To end those two kids right to a happy life? How very self-centered of you!" He was shocked, to say the least. I never gave him time to react any farther, I would not shut up. I continued, "You can do anything you want in this life except hurt others and what you are considering will absolutely devastate the lives of others!" He just stood there, I don't think this is what he wanted to hear from me. Still not giving him a chance to speak, I related an incident which had occurred in Maine while I was walking around America. I was exiting a convenience store when a gentleman approached me. He pointed to my "LOVE LIFE" sign leaning against the store and asked if it were mine and what did it mean? I told him of my son's suicide and what I was about. Now this very well dressed man had just stepped out of a brand new BMW and on his wrist was a Rolex watch. He looked like a successful man who obviously had his act together. He looked at me and tears were streaming down his face. He said, "My father killed himself when I was only 12! I don't know why he did that to me?" The gentleman told me he was 62 years old. Fifty years had passed and this man was still crying!His father had filled him with guilt and broken his heart permanently! After telling the story, I asked him, "Now you still think you have the right to cripple your babies emotionally for the rest of their lives?" He could not answer, he looked totally confused. I had caused him, just for a second, to stop wallowing in his own self-pity. I did not let up on him, I continued, "Listen, what my little boy did to me, his mother, his sister, his other relatives and all his friends, was extremely self-centered. He didn't realize it, he left this world ignorant of the devastation to other lives his suicide brought about!" I looked the truck driver right in the eyes and said, "But you sir, will not be leaving ignorant! No sir, I have just educated your ass! You will be taking your life knowing full well what you will be doing to your babies and your other loved ones! Yup, you will be leaving in a full state of pure selfishness!" He only looked at me briefly and then down at the ground, and said nothing. He was no longer talking of his woes and killing himself though. I repeated, "You will not kill yourself!" He answered, "I'm not sure?" But he was certainly not as adamant about his decision to commit suicide as he had been a few minutes before. I told him he would be okay and that he had all his own answers on the iside, just like the rest of us. That he had to consider the feelings of his loved ones and friends. That if he would always try to put all things in perspective, he would come to terms with his pain... without hurting others. I told him I believed in a universal power greater than myself, and that for convenience, I call it God. I told him sometimes if I can't find my answer on my own, I call upon this unseen power, it works for me. I again said, "You will be okay and you are not going to kill yourself!" I gave him my card and told him to call me anytime. He still looked miserable as he walked toward his truck. But I was pretty sure he had had a change of heart. A few months later while visiting friends in Maine, I was listening to all my voice mail calls. My cell phone had been out of service for a few weeks. There was this call, "Hey, I'm the truck driver in Pennsylvania that stopped you. I just wanted to let you know... I took your words to heart... you uh... you were right. I realized how wrong I would have been. Things did get better and I am trying real hard to adjust to life and just take it as it comes... jus' wanted to thank you!" I suppose you can call it 'tuff love'. I certainly don't think we can deal with them like that if we don't have a love in our heart for them. I have experience in these matters... an experience I wish to God I did not have. but I do have it and I have come to believe that I have it for a reason. "Porsches In Jerome" I had just left Payson, Arizona and was on a pay phone in front of a convenience store when about ten Porsche's of different styles pulled into the parking lot of the store. I am a car lover and I never recognized those particular body styles. So I excitedly excused myself from the phone to go take pictures of those new Porsche's. I had taken four or five pictures of the mysterious autos when a big man wearing plaid shorts and black dress socks approached me. He looked like a Canadian on vacation in Florida. Instead, he was German and working for Porsche. He came toward me very fast and very angrily demanded, “You give me camera!” To which I said, “No, I will not give you my camera!” He demanded again and again I said, “No!” He then reached for my camera and repeated, “You give me camera!” I said to him, "If you touch me or this camera, I am going to slap the shit out of you!” He stopped reaching toward me but he kept insisting I give him my camera. I then said something I had never dreamed I would ever have to say, (felt kinda' good) “look buddy, this is America, I am an American and you cannot take my camera away from me in this country! Now, I don’t know how they do it in Germany… but your ass is not getting MY camera!” Another of the drivers approached me, his English was better and he was less hostile. He explained to me that the cars were prototypes and were there in Arizona as part of their testing. The cars had not been officially released to the public. There was a testing facility located near where we were. This I could understand, not yelling and trying to take my camera. I realized that auto manufacturers have to guard their new designs from being stolen. But the Bermuda shorts and black socks guy wouldn't shut up kept saying, "you give me camera!" His associate was trying to handle the situation with diplomacy, but big mouth would not hear it. Not only was diplomacy foreign to him, he had very poor taste in the choosing of proper clothing. how could he possibly choose the right words? He came past the nice German guy, and reached for my camera one more time! This pissed me off, so I started taking pictures again. The nice German guy gets in front of the Bermuda Shorts guy to keep him from reaching me. I am still taking pictures and Bermuda Shorts is jumping up and down in front of me waving his arms to block the pictures. I then, raise the camera over my head to get the shots without his flailing arms in the way. Now he's jumping higher, the nice German is jumping higher, and I, of course, responded by jumping higher than both, and taking more pictures! The nice German figured out that I could be just as big a asshole as the Bermuda Shorts German and increased his persuasion attempts toward his associate. They both walked away toward the very innocent Porsche's. Victory was mine! As I started up the mountain toward Jerome, I heard the caravan of Porsche's behind me. And though I was out of film, I aimed my camera toward the fine automobiles and acted as though I was still taking pictures! When the Bermuda shorts Germans car passed, he was furious! He did signal that he thought I was number one though, but he used the wrong finger? Thinking it could possibly be a German thing? Not wanting to seem rude and break custom, I returned the number one gesture to him, I also used the wrong finger! And not to be undone, and to show him how loving we Americans really could be... I blew him a kiss! He went nuts! I thought he was going to rip the steering wheel off that fine automobile. TO BE CONTINUED.... "Indiana Rescue" I was in Indiana, and walking in a cold drizzling rain. I was in an area where I just could not find a good place to pitch my tent and as a result I was walking in the dark. I usually avoided this situation; it is way too dangerous, as the drivers just cannot see you well at night. An Indiana state trooper stopped and said he barely saw me and was concerned about my safety. I explained my situation to him and told him I was trying to make it to the next little town, Canaan. He said I was nearly there, within a half mile. He told me the only thing in town was a little country store and it did serve sandwiches. He advised me to use extreme caution and that he would tell the owner of the store that I was on my way in. He was not sure what time they closed and he wanted to assure that I was able to get something to eat. I made it to the little store about twenty minutes before they closed. For some reason the lady who owned the store was very curt with me. It was obvious she didn’t care for me being there. I asked if she could make me a sandwich, she said it was too late but there was a pre-made bologna and cheese sandwich in the cooler. I don’t particularly care for bologna, but hey, when you’re hungry. As I was paying for my sandwich I asked the lady if I could sit at the tables they had in the rear of the store. Even though she was still fifteen minutes from closing, she snapped a very adamant, “No!” And as she was putting my change on the counter, I said something I know I shouldn’t have said, “Lady, the state of Indiana has been wonderful to me, please don’t blow it.” She turned immediately to the phone on the wall behind her and started dialing. Oh Jesus, I thought, she’s calling the police, her seven feet tall husband, or her seven and a half feet son! At any rate, I went out the door. I was hoping to find a place quickly to avoid any confrontation with cops or giants. About two blocks, and I came to large really old Methodist church. I immediately headed up its drive toward the back. What I found was a cemetery on a hill with not even one flat place suitable for pitching a tent. The building was an old brownstone with a metal fire escape lit up by a naked light bulb under a metal shield. I sat down on the fire escape in the rain, and started eating the very stale sandwich. I started to feel sorry for myself, but I caught it and did not allow myself to go there. I knew it wouldn’t change a thing. So there I sit in the cold and I decided to sum up my situation. I looked out at the tombstones and decided that Mr. Jones grave might be a little more level than the rest. So, Mr. Jones it would be, I would pitch my tent atop Mr. Jones! Within minutes of having accepted my situation, out of the corner of my eye I saw the light of headlights shining into the graveyard. A car was coming up the driveway to the church. I started getting my response together in my mind for whoever was after me. To the seven-foot tall husband or son I would say, “I am so sorry for my tone of voice toward your wife/mother, I was tired and not thinking clearly, please forgive me, I meant no disrespect.” To the policeman I would apologize and hope for the best. I was thinking that at least I would be warm in jail. I still really did not want to go to jail though. The vehicle came around the building with its headlights directly on me. It was a fairly new Jeep Cherokee. The small (not seven feet) bearded driver got out and walked toward me. “We thought you might have come up here, my wife and I saw you earlier walk into town but we were on our way somewhere else and couldn’t pick you up at the time. We were wondering if you would like to spend the night at our home, get something to eat and clean up? My wife can do some laundry for you too, if you like.” Wow! I was stunned. Not too stunned to grab my gear and get myself inside that warm jeep in record time! My hosts were Hartley and Lillace Bernard. They were both nurses. Hartley and I talked for a long time covering an assortment of topics, one being whether a God truly existed or not. The next morning I left with a clean body, clean clothes, a full belly, and Lillian had prepared a sack full of food for the road. Hartley drove me back to where he had picked me up. As I was preparing to exit his Jeep, he told me how much he had enjoyed our conversations. H e said he particularly enjoyed questioning the existence of God. He said that when he and Lillian first moved to the Canaan area, they decided to attend church. After just a short while they realized it was not what they were seeking and soon left. He went on to explain that one lady and her family controlled the church and it was obvious that all matters of the church went the way this lady dictated. And then as I was stepping onto the street he said, “You know that woman who gave you a hard time in her store… she’s the one.” "SALT BARN" I was just outside of Canton, Ohio in an area called Sugar Creek township. It looked like rain fast approaching and so I was looking for a cover of some sort. I spotted the perfect one, a Quonset hut open in the front and half filled with a salt and sand mixture used on icy roads. A sign said it was the property of Sugar Creek Township and there was no trespassing. Just opposite of the “salt barn” was a small building, a sign said it was the Sugar Creek Township Maintenance Dept. There were two men in a lttle office, Mike and his one helper, Rick. Mike told me I could bed down in one of the salt barns. "I'm from sunny Florida" I said, "What the hell's a salt barn?" He explained to me the barns stored the salt and sand mixture they used to de-ice the roads in winter. I had coffee and cheese doodles with them, an Ohio thing maybe? I shared my story and Mike shared that only recently his young son-in-law had taken his own life. After Mike and Rick left for the day, I made my bed in the salt barn and out of the pouring rain and settled in. I was reading a paper Mike had given me. When a car pulled up in front of the open faced salt barn. A young lady, maybe her early twenties, got out of her car. She walked within 15 feet of me and just started sobbing! I realized that Mike must have told his daughter who I was, this was the little darling who had just lost her husband to suicide. I ran to her and just wrapped my arms around her and held her while she sobbed. She started trying to apologize for her break down, I stopped her and told her to let it rip! She was screaming out, "He did it right in front of me, he shot himself right in front of me!" All I could do was hold her, and love her. She continued screaming, "I was a stay at home mom, I have lost our house! I have a new baby boy, what am I going to do? I just kept holding her, she held on tight. I can't describe how much love I felt for that precious heart broken child. I didn't have her immediate answer anymore than I have anyone elses. But I do have love, so I just loved her. I was holding my little boy and my little girl. I did share with her though that I had found an inner peace in my solitude and a retreat from my grief. I told her I feel we all have our own answers inside of us. . Sometimes it is very deep inside of us and we need an outside source to find it. That there is a universal power waiting to help us. All we have to do is realize it does indeed exist and cry out to it, thus giving it credence. And we can absolutely acheive a peace and self assurance that all will be well ... no matter the circumstances. She eventually stopped sobbing and screaming. I told her I loved her very much. The next morning as I hiked down the road, Mike and Rick pulled along side me in their work truck. Mike said, "You talked to my girl last night, thank you, I think she really needed that." She has called me since and says I helped her and she was coping much better. I didn't do anything special. I do not have anyones answer. But this is what can happen when we open up our hearts to everyone, to strangers. "A human being is part of the whole, called by us UNIVERSE, A part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something seperate from the rest... A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." ~ Albert Einstein "WHEAT GRASS" Due to limited access sections of U.S. Highway 101 in California I could not walk straight into Oregon following that route. I was forced to take an obscure route into Oregon and then double back into California before I could continue on highway 101 and follow Oregon’s gorgeous coastline. The obscure route took me into the very small community of Takilma, Oregon. There were no business’s, only scattered houses. I came to a fork in the road and there were no signs directing me as to which road was the one I wanted to continue on. I yelled at two guys delivering firewood and asked them. They both looked at me and then turned back to their work as though I had said nothing! So I chose a road on my own hoping for the best. Almost immediately I saw two young men getting out of their car. I yelled at them, “hey, will this road take me to route 199 so I can get back to California.” They looked at each other and shrugged, then turned back to me and said, “sure.” It was not that reassuring but I continued on. As I continued down my chosen route I saw a very small lady, not much over four feet, I’m sure. She was bent over in small plot of very thick grass that was up to her knees. As I got closer to her she raised up. “Where are you going?” She said in a very shrill voice. When I looked at her to answer I could see grass stain all around her mouth... she was holding a wad of grass in her hand? In the 60’s there was an instrumental tune called “Grazing In The Grass” and it immediately popped into my head and provided the proper soundtrack for this strange scene. I really had to control myself not to laugh. I told her where I was going and she told me I was going in the wrong direction and the road I was on dead-ended up in the mountains. She told me the exact way to go. I thanked her and turned around to head in the right direction. She noticed I was looking at the grass in her hand, “wheat grass.” She said. “You can live on just this, it’s almost all I ever eat.” She then started expounding on the many attributes of wheat grass. And then while thrusting the bunch in her hand toward me she said, “Here…taste it.” I really didn’t want to, but hey, she did put me in the right direction, so I reluctantly took a bite of it. It was kind of sweet tasting but it still tasted like grass, and I had no plans to live on it. I then heard a grunting sound. I looked behind her and there in the doorway of a very small cabin stood a black man that had to be over seven feet tall! He was dressed in all black leather motorcycle gear. And he had patches and pins all over his black leather vest denoting that he was part of a Christian motorcycle group. “Bikers For Christ” I believe it was called. And he may well have been the drunkest man I had ever seen! I could barely understand a word he was trying to say, but I did make out something about God and Jesus. The little woman glanced over her shoulder at him and then back to me and said, “He’s an alcoholic.” “How do you know?" I quipped. She didn’t hear me, she had immediately started praising wheat grass again. Then the seven foot, drunken Christian biker motioned for me to enter the small shack. I managed to make out a few words, he was opening up their home to me for the night. That was my cue to leave; I was not going to spend the night with a seven foot tall drunk Christian biker and a grass eatin' midget! The scene was unusual, to say the least. But they were very kind and kept me from going the wrong way. “Cop Stops” I actually have not been stopped all that often by police. Most of the time when they do stop me, it is because of curiosity. Sometimes though, they are told to check me out because someone has called in and said I looked suspicious? Fortunately for me, the officers I encountered were all smart enough to figure I couldn’t be trying to hide too much. What with a big red and white sign over my head and all. No more than a couple of times has an officer ever been rude. And even on the rare occasions when they were told to investigate me, they were nearly always concerned for my safety. And most times even asked if they could do anything for me. In northern Ohio on Route 44, just south of Chardon, a plain-clothes officer who was following instructions, stopped me. He told me someone had called me in as suspicious looking, maybe it’s the mustache? Always before, after running my drivers’ license, I was always free to go. Not this time. Whoever called this time, had clout. Maybe it was the mayors’ wife? The officer seemed irritated that whoever was on the other end of his radio, was not allowing him to release me and go on about his daily routine. You know, tracking down the real ax murderers. I proceeded to show him a letter of introduction from the honorable Mayor of Vero Beach, Florida. He still was not given permission to let me go? I could plainly see the officer was aware I was no threat at all. (I had since disposed of the bloody ax.) He was becoming more exasperated that he wasn’t being allowed to use his own judgment, and let me go! I then remembered having several copies of past newspaper articles with me. So I showed those to him. While holding one with a big picture of me, he talks into his microphone, “Look, this guy even has newspaper articles with pictures of him and that big sign over his head. When was the last time you saw a criminal seeking media coverage, huh?” It became obvious the dispatcher had a quick wit when the officer chuckled and said, “ Yeah, you got me there, but I don't think this guy's seeking political office!” I laughed too. He was finally permitted to release me from his questioning. He wished me well and told me to be careful. He was still shaking his head in disbelief of the bureaucracy interfering with his common sense! He was a nice guy. On Florida’s West Coast, near the town of Port St. Joe, a curious Highway Patrol trooper in his Camarro stopped me. He asked as to what I was doing? I told him, and further explained, I had just walked over thirty miles from Carabelle and was hoping to find a suitable tent spot or cheap motel before dark. He told me there were only two motels near by and that I was two miles from the very nice Port Inn. The other motel, he said was a bit farther and was not very nice. I explained that even a bad motel was usually nicer than being in a tent. The trooper was obviously concerned that I may have to spend a night in what he kept calling, a really cheap motel. And I kept insisting that was exactly what I was looking for. He told me it just wasn’t a nice place. I couldn’t seem to get through to him, it was all I could afford. I finally told him that I appreciated his advice but it was nearly dark and I had to get on my way and off the highway. As I started to leave, he said to me, “Hey, let’s see if we can squeeze your gear in my patrol car, ‘cause you ain’t gonna’ make it to Port St. Joe before dark.” I accepted the ride and asked that he take me to the cheap motel. He never answered. We pulled up in front of the Port Inn. It was a beautiful and elegant looking old building. I immediately interjected, “I cannot afford this place, can you direct me to the other place?” “You don’t want to stay there.” He said, very matter of fact. “Let’s go in and find out just how much it is, you may be surprised.” I knew it would be a waste of time, I knew what my finances were. And I was quite worn out from walking over thirty miles. I just wanted to lay down! The trooper walked up to the front desk in the beautifully charming lobby, and said to the very nice lady, “I would like to get a room please.” He turned toward me, sensing I was about to object, and gave me the look. It was a kind look, but it was also that look that only an experienced officer of the law can give. The look said, “It is finished, please be quiet, you are going to get the ticket!” “Okay!” From my mind, ‘cause I knew that look! Just as he was about to hand the lady his credit card, he said, “Excuse me just a moment ma’am…” He stepped away from the counter and motioned for me to follow him. After we had gone just a few feet, he whispered to me, “Could I please see your drivers license?” I had to laugh, I said, “Yeah, that wouldn’t look too good if you put a wanted criminal up for the night.” He seemed embarrassed at having to do it, but he apologized and proceeded to call it in on his hand held walkie-talkie. He asked the lady if there any food available, knowing it was Sunday night in a small town and everything would be closed. She said they only offered Continental Breakfast. She then asked us to follow and she opened up a refrigerator and offered me fruit and cereal. The fine trooper said he would check on me the next morning with his wife. He said he wanted to hear all the stories I could tell him! True to his word, he knocked on my door the next morning; his lovely wife was with him. He said, “We are here to pick your brain.” And laughingly said, “We’re going to get our money’s worth.” We sat out on the front porch of that wonderful old Inn and chatted. His wife asked me lots of great questions. She asked my route and said that she would find me later in the day. She explained that she would find me after picking up their 11-year-old daughter from school. She wanted her little girl to meet me. And later that day, I spent some time answering questions from their daughter. In Nevada, U.S. Route 50 is called America’s loneliest highway. I can testify to the truth of that claim. I walked many miles of it on my first walk across the U.S.A. in 2001. Once past Fallon, Nevada, the towns are 50 to 90 miles apart. When you are walking, those stretches of asphalt can seem even longer. Particularly in the summer, when I crossed the state. You really can see for miles and miles. Except for the very rare ranch house seen from the road, there are no trees. What you see mostly is the heat distorting the miles and miles. Then there is the occasional livestock hauler barreling down the span at high rates of speed, permeating the hot, dry air with the smell of various farm animals. Mix those smells with 103-degree temperatures coming at you 80 miles per hour! It is a definite shock to the nasal passages. And though you can’t see them, you can certainly tell when the truck is hauling sheep! I was able to walk these stretches of desert highway because of the cart I had built. The cart I pulled behind me enabled me to haul as much as 70 pounds of water and my tent, sleeping mat, etc. I made a hydration system by running aquarium hose from a five-gallon water cooler, up the tongue of the cart and over my shoulder. Plus I had to add three to four one-gallon jugs for the longer stretches. Besides having a source of water right at my mouth, I always had shade immediately over my head. I had covered a 2 ft. x 2ft. piece of plastic sign material, Corplas, with Mylar. I then fastened this to my pack frame so that it was directly over my head. It worked quite well. For the really hot days, I also had a very lightweight umbrella that I had covered with Mylar. Mylar looks like aluminum foil and is very shiny in that Nevada sun. I must have been quite the sight walking down the highway. And then, add to that, a big white sign with bright red letters proclaiming, “LOVE LIFE”! That part of Nevada has allot of open range where cattle graze freely. The sight of me stampeded more than one small herd. I certainly attracted the curiosity of the very few Nevada Highway Patrol Troopers I encountered. One in particular, Jake. Jake could not believe I was out there! He was incredulous at the idea of someone actually walking out there, and in the summer! Over a period of four days, when Jake would come upon me during his patrols of his assigned stretch of Rt. 50, he would idle his car along side me and we would talk. He said he did not want to stop my forward progress. And we certainly didn’t have to worry about oncoming traffic! Any other vehicles approaching could be seen way before they got to us. We had great conversations. Jake still shook his head and chuckled in dismay every once in awhile; still amazed I was out there! He said he came across many cyclists taking on the trek, but no pedestrians! One late afternoon, two pretty rough looking men in an old beat up pick-up truck drove by real slow and cursed me. After driving by they both stuck their hands out their windows with that famous signal! They then slowed down, as though to see what my reaction would be. And, being in possession of some common sense, I gave no reaction. A few minutes later, they drove by very slowly in the opposite direction. They both stared menacingly at me. I stared straight ahead as though they weren’t there. This unwanted attention had me concerned. I kept expecting them to return, not knowing what I would do if they actually got out of their vehicle. After nearly an hour had passed, up drives a Nevada Highway Patrol Trooper. Man, did he look good! I was out of Jakes territory now, but this trooper was his friend. Jake had told him about me. As soon as he asked how I was, I related my story. I described the men and the truck as best I could remember. He was quite concerned for my safety. He asked my plans for the night and I told him I simply got as far as I could off the highway and pitched my tent. Due to the terrain on that particular stretch of road, it would be difficult for my tent not to be seen. Especially if someone were to be looking for it! My new trooper friend came up with a plan. We estimated approximately how much farther I would walk before camping for the night. He asked me to cut it short by an hour; there was a certain area he wanted me in. He would be unable to be there at the exact time I camped, but he would at least know the general area where I would be. In the mean time he would look for the truck so as to question the two men. He advised me to of course, make sure no vehicles were in sight when I went off the road to pitch my tent. He said he would give two quick toots of his horn as he drove by during the night, letting me know he was in the area. I did hear the horn at least twice during the night. I slept well, knowing I was being watched over. The next evening the trooper stopped and checked on me. He said they had not seen the truck in mention but were still watching for it. It is a real good feeling having people of that caliber on your side. In Colorado, near Canon City, I was looking for someone to ask directions to the Royal Gorge Bridge. Someone instead, approached me. “Hey man, what the hell you doin’ man?" This guy was what I call rough looking. He really looked and sounded hard-core. I answered that I was simply reminding everyone to love life. He acted as though I had not said a word as he asked, “have the friggin’ asshole cops harassed you yet?” “No one has bothered me.” I answered. “Well, they will!” he said. “They’re all assholes around here, they stop me all the time! For no reason at all! I never do anything wrong!” It is my personal opinion; the man had no idea, the definition of the word innocent. I had already been warned that this area had the highest concentration of prisons than any other area in the whole country. Including the federal ADX Super Max Prison. I mentioned this to Mr. Mother Teresa and suggested that to be the reason the police check him often. I pointed out that due to the large number of penal institutions in the area, the police were probably required to check out everyone and often. I suggested that it was probably not just him they were signaling out. “Hell no!” He said. “That ain’t got a damn thing to do with it! They’re just assholes… and that’s all”! If I were a cop, I wouldn’t waste my time stopping him that often. I would simply fasten a heavy chain to his leg and stake him out in a field somewhere, so as to know where he was at all times! Sure enough, later that day a Colorado Highway patrolman stopped me and checked my drivers’ license. I further volunteered showing newspaper articles covering my walk and the letter of introduction from my hometown mayor. The trooper then enlightened me. He said, “Sir, you are walking into an area more dangerous than most people will ever realize.” I’m not sure what that meant? Maybe, more prisoners escape than is known to the general public? He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t care to know! I told him, “I was expecting to be stopped soon. I guess if I was a cop in this area, I would stop old ladies in wheel chairs.” And without smiling at all, he said, “We do.” He further instructed me to be very careful over the next few days, to stay alert, and conscious of my surroundings. He seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being. He then said a most reassuring thing, “Sir, you keep yourself very alert to what’s in front of you and we’ll watch what’s in back of you.” Wow, that felt nice. I was stopped by two other lawmen that same day. I told the third officer how often I had been stopped already. He said he would see if he could do something about for me. He was on his radio as he drove away. The very next morning, an officer was approaching me with radio mike in hand, and he went back on the highway, nodded to me and drove on by. That occurred once more that day. After that, the officers would only beep their horn or nod to me. I wonder why one man thought they were A-holes and another thinks they are saints?
Well, I was properly chewed out, chastised by a man smiling and chuckling the whole time. I climbed up in his truck and down the road we went. He explained he had seen me on the way to pick up his first load of corn for the day. He said when he saw me he just knew God wanted him to bless me. I said, “But…” one last time and was laughingly chewed out for it. We talked of giving, God, loving life, and lots of other things pertaining to life. He had a bible beside him that was reduced to just a pile of tattered pages. He was obviously a Christian, but not the ‘pain in the ass’ kind. He spoke of love and understanding for his fellow human being. He never talked of salvation or sin or what anyone else should do in their lives. He never one time asked me if I were religious nor did he even hint to it. Most Christians out there on the road, nice they may be, will invariably ask if I too am a Christian, or the most privacy invading question of all… “Are you saved?” I commonly answer that with another question, “Saved from what?” He was a delight to be with and converse with. In the parking lot next to the ATM machine, after he had given me the amount of money he insisted on, he gave me directions to all the services I might need. Then he grabbed me and gave me one of the best damn hugs I’ve ever had! And that was my Elvis sighting! Hell, I’d hang a velvet painting of that Elvis on my wall any day. California. I was not used to being out there all by myself and was still had not learned to turn boredom and loneliness into solitude. So, in my imagined boredom, I created a littl
A question commonly put to me is, “How do you keep from getting bored?” And my immediate answer is always, “I do not get bored.” I will explain to you why I NEVER get bored while walking… I was in Nevada on my first walk across the U.S. I had only just started ine game for myself… I started stampeding cattle! That’s right, just like you used to see in the old western movies! The part of Nevada I was walking through was open range territory and cattle were everywhere. Basically, there were no fences to separate the cattle from the soon to be recognized…I had over my head, a large sign with large, bright red letters. I had a piece of sign material the same size as the sign, wrapped with Mylar (looks like aluminum foil) over my head acting as a shield from the sun. Behind me was a small trailer with all my gear, attached at my waist and shoulder which I pulled. This had to be one hell of a sight through the eyes of a cow! I probably looked like a giant red-headed scorpion or something like that? When I approached the already leery cattle, I would lower my head and the sun would reflect off the Mylar surface, and I would make all kinds of howling like sounds (similar to those of the male, white, red-necked moron.) while gyrating all over the place! Scared those cows to death! They would charge across that arid landscape with large billowing clouds of dust trailing behind them! Wow, it was just like an old John Wayne movie! There were times when as many as a hundred head or more stampeded! What a feeling of power… and certainly no room for boredom. I did this several times and then one day…. there were the most cattle I had seen bunched up together at one time… I could barely wait! I could see they were getting jittery and looking at each other nervously as I approached. I was experienced; I knew just what to do. I got as close as I could and when the time was just right… I started all my goofy gyrations and howling as a mad man. Now remember, I was 55-years-old, actually I’m the one who should have remembered. Well, everything went just as usual, they took off in a trail of dust and thundering hoofs! It was one of the most exciting yet! Perfect! Almost perfect except for one large problem… when the dust cleared… there he stood… and it was not John Wayne! It was the bull! He was NOT happy! He was slobbering and snorting and staring at me. If a professional boxer could mimic that look, I don’t think he would ever have to throw a punch to win. If he could have talked, this is what I imagined him to say to me, “Uh… I see you really like frightening the ladies… huh? Uh… my ladies I might add! Uh… you uh wanna' try that shit with me?” “No!” That part wasn’t imagined… I actually said that. And then he made a fake charge at me! Now you must understand, I had no idea it was a fake charge… because… my ass was gone! I had that cart bouncing behind me like a basketball! I only realized it was a fake charge after a few moments when I knew I wasn’t dead. Now I would love to tell you I learned my lesson and never did it again… but that wouldn’t be true. I actually did it a couple more time and had one more bull encounter. But then I quit. And I never seemed to get bored out there again. I always found much better things to do than scare the ladies, things like counting grains of sand. The bully got bullied… by a bull! “PERSONAL VIEWS” Hey, what’s the sign, you about abortion?” The driver asked as he pulled up beside me. I said, “Absolutely not sir.” And as usual when asked that question, I simply used my gift of gab and went into my story to avoid discussing personal opinions. I saw pain in the man’s eyes; he was lonely and needed to talk. I care not whether the person in front of me be toting a Pro-life or Pro-Choice sign over their sweet heads. They both are fellow human beings and they both require and deserve love. I want to see if I might possibly give them a little comfort in some way. I feel, too many of us have become separated from each other by allowing our opinions to take precedence over the feelings, the needs, of our fellow human beings. And then, his next question, one asked of me fairly often, “Are you a Christian?” And I gave my usual answer, “I am a firm believer in the teachings of Jesus. That is not to be confused though, with all those buildings and denominations.” He never questioned my answer as most do not. Had I said instead, “No, I am not a Christian; I would have been engaged in a point of view discussion instead of the burden in the man’s heart? And we did eventually get to the man’s problem at hand, and I feel I was possibly of some help to him. I must confess though, I nearly walked away when he blurted out, “God wants me to build him a bowling alley!” Okay… this is going to be tough one…. In Lawrence, Kansas, as I walked down the sidewalk of a main street with LOVE LIFE over my head, three women, all with very short hair, dressed in heavy flannel shirts, jeans and heavy work boots, walked toward me. I greeted them, Good morning!” And in apparent disdain for my sign, they all three had scowls on their faces and were grunting, “Humph!” and, “Yeah, right?” they were all shaking their heads in disapproval and glaring at me! None returned my cordial greeting. I stopped and said, “What?” I received another chorus of “Humph!” And it was now apparent they had no intention of being cordial. So, I once again inquired, “What?” Only this time I raised each arm one at a time and acted as though I was giving a quick sniff of each armpit as I said, “What?” I figured it must be body odor which had disgusted them so badly they wouldn’t return other human beings salutations… I hadn’t done anything else wrong? And of course, this wise-ass action brought me even more disdain from them. As my cousin David says, “F--- ‘em if they can’t take a joke!” He’s an English Literature Professor so it must be alright? A few hours later, I related the encounter to an off duty Lawrence police officer who was treating me to a lunch with him. He surmised, they must have thought I was part of a Pro-Life rally going on that very week in Lawrence. Had the three ladies simply inquired as to what my sign was about, they would have heard my story and we could have enjoyed great fellowship and perhaps even… a bit of laughter! There is nothing in my story to offend the staunchest Pro-Choice advocate. And even had they not expressed interest in finding out what my sign really meant… was there justification in my smile and greeting being ignored, and then treating me in such a manner? In Hendersonville, Kentucky, one lovely spring morning, I heard a shout from across the street from a little lady, “Hey, come over here, we’re getting ready to have breakfast!” When I get that invite, a rocket booster ignites from my butt and propels me at record speeds toward the source! “Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.” I said as I made my landing in front of her store-front building! I never ask for anything other than water… but I seldom turn down anything! I never even noticed what the sign said in the windows; I had sausage and eggs on my mind! I found out while I was being served a wonderful breakfast the window sign was said it was a National Right to Life Center. The dear sweet ladies thought I was protesting abortion. I informed them I was not, and proceeded to explain my story. They seemed touched somewhat, but there was an obvious disappointment I wasn’t what they thought me to be. So I did the proper thing… I started eating real fast in case they changed their mind about the breakfast! The matter of abortion is defined by some as a right and by some as immoral. They both are opinions by individuals who have every right to that particular opinion. I don’t care for opinions, I prefer absolute truths. Known truths such as, all humans need and crave love, all humans deserve respect no matter their opinion or label. I have worked very hard at ridding myself of all labels and am working on refraining from personal opinions, particularly those of a religious or political nature. My given name is all the identification I need… thank you. And if someone doesn’t like that… they can refer back to what my cousin David said. I love the teachings of Jesus the Christ and those of the Buddha, but by God, I am neither Buddhist nor Christian! Labels separate us and stop the flow of love. I’m pro- LOVE LIFE! “SCREW CANCER!” I was on Rock City Road, heading south just outside Saratoga Springs, New York. A young man stopped his truck next to me with total disregard of traffic behind him. He had on a Yankee's cap covering up a bald head. He leaned over his passenger and said, "Hey, I gotta' tell ye' something buddy, I got cancer! I woke up this morning feeling all bad and depressed and scared. Then I saw you walking down the road with that sign and it made me realize, by God I love life!" And as I handed him my card, I answered, "Yeah... well... screw cancer! You have every right to love life! You don't have a damn thing that can't be beat, cancer gets beat all the time! And by God... you're going to beat it too!" "And with a big beautiful smile on that too young face, he said. "Yes I am, I am going to live!" His friend in the passenger seat was nodding his head in total agreement and began pumping his fist in the air saying, "Yeah, yeah! Screw cancer!" I said. "You've still got life, hell, you can beat anything!" The traffic was starting to line up behind him and a horn or two blew. We kept on cheering and all three of us were pumping our fist in the air and saying, "Yeah that's right, screw cancer!" And as he was driving away he said, "Yeah mister, you're right, screw cancer and I am going to live!" "Damn right you're going to live, screw cancer!" I yelled back. I watched them go down the road, both were still pumping their fist in the air and surely... they were still shouting, "Screw cancer!" A couple weeks later when I was able to retrieve my email, there was one from the young man's father, "My boy was the young man in the gray truck you talked to today. He has cancer and he said you gave him hope. And in large bold letters… “THANK YOU!” Over a year later in December 2008, the young man’s new wife contacted me. They had just recently married, that September. The wedding had been postponed when RJ was diagnosed with cancer. She said his name is Robert but everyone calls him RJ. Amber said RJ is suffering from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a very aggressive disease. Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is normally easily treated if caught soon enough, but by the time they found it in RJ he had reached stage IV B. He had gone through an autologous stem cell transplant which unfortunately did not completely work. They then did radiation which worked on the spots radiated, but the cancer traveled to some new spots. He is currently in chemo again and will be getting another transplant from a donor, his brother. She said if this treatment doesn’t work they will then go to experimental drugs. Evidently RJ is a fighter! And he is certainly married to a warrior! Amber told me, the day RJ and I met on the road, he was scheduled to be in treatment but he had contracted a mild cold bug and couldn't be treated as planned. She further explained, he became very depressed that day and stayed that way until he saw me and my “LOVE LIFE” sign walking alongside the road. She further explained that he would have never been on that back road outside Saratoga but he had gone that way to pick up his friend. She said, “I know you and RJ met for a reason!” She also told me, “Since you inspired him so much I decided to add “love Life” to the tattoo I had already planned for him, I thought it a perfect fit. 'Cause really, no matter what, you should just love life." How awesome is that... huh? How incredibly intimate and loving. That tattoo, that beautiful little billboard proclaiming love and encouragement from an adoring and dedicated young wife. Probably every morning and every night RJ is reminded with so very much love, to love life and fight back. TWO CURIOUS YOUNG GIRLS… AND ONE NOT! I had just walked into Genivese, Missouri where I was planning to catch a ride on the ferry across the Mississippi to Illinois when a car pulled up with three young women, probably all in their early twenties The two young ladies in the front were excited about my sign and insisted I tell them all about. The young lady in the back seat seemed to have no interest at all. In fact, she seemed aggravated at me and every time I gave her the common courtesy of looking in her direction from time to time, she would turn her head away. I was not deterred at all due to the excited questioning coming from the other two. This was my first trip across America and I was still having a hard time telling of my son’s suicide and I became very emotional. I told everything in detail, of how my son’s self centered decision had near destroyed the lives of me, his mother, and sister. Of the horrible pain it had caused his other relatives and friends. I told of how I was coming to realize that the pain would never go away completely, that I would just have to adjust to living with it. I started crying when I told of how I didn’t want any other parent to ever have to go through the living horror I had to face after my only son’s suicide! The young sweet driver told me she wanted to take my picture and would I mind waiting while she went home to get her camera. I told them I was walking to the ferry dock that was still a couple miles away and I would look for them. About 45 minutes later they found me and the driver emerged from her car with camera in one hand and a twenty in the other. I immediately started protesting and insisted the money wasn’t necessary. She kept walking toward me and when she got close enough to me, she got a very serious look on her face and she whispered, “You have to take this money, please!” She was motioning toward her car with her eyes. I could see that there was more to her motive than just handing me the money. As she handed me the money, talking very fast, she whispered to me, “Look, you may very well have saved our friends life! She tried to kill herself just a few days ago and has been under watch at her parent’s since being released from the hospital. Her parent’s reluctantly let her go with us for awhile today because we are her best friends. On the way to my house to get the camera she started crying and apologizing to both us and saying over and over that she had no idea the pain she was causing! She was really hurt by what she was ignorantly doing to the people who care about her!” And as she was telling me where she wanted me to pose for the pictures, she sneaked in another whisper with tears in her sweet caring eyes, “Thank you sir!” That little girl in the back seat was blessed with two fine friends. The “LOVE LIFE” sign makes people stop…. The right people! LOAD THE F’ UP! I was but a few weeks into my walk around the U.S. in 2003 and walking U.S. route 98 just east of Carrabelle, Florida. It was getting late and I had started looking for a place to pitch my tent. Not an easy task as I was in an area of very nice homes looking out at the Gulf. I finally saw a very large empty wooded stretch of land between two homes. I looked both ways until I saw no traffic and made a dash for the woods! I couldn’t see either of the houses for the trees so I felt pretty safe and started looking for that perfect spot! Then, all of a sudden… the dog! A dog starts barking like crazy! A woman yell out, “Sic ‘im boy, sic ‘im!” So I start crashing through the woods headed back for the road! The lady was yelling, “Sic ‘im boy, bite that son-of-bitch!” When I hit the road I was running as fast as I could with the heavy pack on my back and I could still hear that lady yelling for her dog to bite my ass! Within moments of getting to the road an old car stopped and the driver said, “Load the fuck up!” And that is exactly what I did! The driver was Malcolm Reed and his passenger was Marjorie Wardel, his girlfriend. Malcolm said, “It’s a good thing we saw you, you don’t need to be walking in this area this late… there’s nothing here but a bunch of rich assholes! They’ll have ya ass put in jail!” I told them what had just happened and thanked them for recuing me. Malcolm was shaking his head acknowledging that he wasn’t surprised and said, “They’re all assholes… nothin’ but assholes here! They took me to Marjorie’s home where she and Malcolm lived and asked me to have dinner with them and spend the night. Malcolm started praising Marjorie’s cooking skills and told me she was the finest cook he had ever seen, “A fuckin’ chef she is!” stated Malcolm. Malcolm was one of the roughest edged people I’ve ever met. He was beyond scruffy lookin’! He hadn’t shave in days and his clothing was filthy! Marjorie, on the other hand, was neat as a pin. She and her home were spotless. She told me she had grown up in Martha’s Vineyard. Now Malcolm most definitely had not grown up in Martha’s Vineyard! Malcolm had grown up in Lafayette County, Florida and grew up working on ranches and farms. The walls were adorned with buckles, trophies, and pictures from his rodeo days. He took down some he was particularly proud of and showed them to me. He told me, “Yep, I rodeo-ed ‘til I was about forty… ‘Til they fuckin’ made me quit! “Man, I used to love it when I hit a good purse ridin’ a bull or bronc… man there ain’t nothin like goin’ into town with twelve to fifteen hunert in yer pocket!” I asked him if he was ever injured bad. Up came his shirt revealing a huge scar from being gored by a bull. He had to pull down the waist of his jeans to reveal the whole scar. Marjorie let out a gasp and yelled, “Malcolm, for God’s sake go take off them long john bottoms so I can wash them!” They were filthy! “They ain’t dirty!” yelled back Malcolm. He seemed adamant about not changing his long john bottoms but she did talk him into going to wash his hands before we ate. While he was in the bathroom, Marjorie told me they had been together for 15 years. She said, “We are as different as day and night. I struggle constantly to make him keep himself and his clothing clean… it’s just the way he is. But I have never met a finer or bigger hearted man in my life… he has always treated me wonderfully!” Malcolm was absolutely correct about Marjorie’s culinary skills… our meal was awesome!! After eating Malcolm showed me a picture of him on a U.S. Navy PTF2 patrol boat. He was firing a fore aft mounted 50 caliber machine gun! “That was taken in Nam.” Malcolm told me. “Weren’t you guys the ones who took the Navy SEALS in for their operations?” I asked. Malcolm snickered, “Hell, takin’ ‘em in weren’t shit! We took ‘em in at night… weren’t nobody better at stealth than us!” he further explained, “We took ‘em in a bunch a times… weren’t never detected… not one damned time! Now, goin’ in and getting’ them crazy bastards was a whole ‘nother story! The whole f-n’ Asian world was after their asses when we had to go in! It was usually still night time or dawn but it looked like f-n’ daylight ‘cause that sky was lit up with all kinds a shit bein’ fired at them boys! Malcolm then looked at me real serious and said, “The pucker factor was very high with all that shit a comin’ in and aimed in our direction! Marjorie interrupted and said, “Malcolm, why don’t you show Steve all your medals, I think he would enjoy seeing them since he was in the navy too.” I acknowledged that I would like to see them. Malcolm pondered for a moment and said, “If they had given me the damn things before I left Nam… I’d a placed ‘em on the bodies of the friends I lost….” He never did show me the medals. Malcolm continued telling me about extracting U.S. Navy SEALS after their missions, “And as if it weren’t f-n’ bad enough gettin’ their bad asses outa’ there, some f-n’ asshole Admiral decided the Navy could get more prisoners to interrogate for information by givin’ them crazy assed SEALS a day of liberty for each prisoner they brought back! Holy shit! I mean… we would take ‘em in with two boats and would have to come back with sometimes as many as five boats to haul all the f-n’ VC prisoners those party happy assholes would capture. They would have them tied together with strips of clothing, vines, and all kinds a’ shit. I never once saw a prisoner act up, they never took their eyes off those SEAL’s…. they were scared to death of ‘em!” I never saw a SEAL mistreat one though.” Malcolm ended his story by telling me that they had to discontinue the prisoner for liberty program because they were bringing back more POW’s than they could handle and grinning real large he added, “Hell, the SEALS would have spent most of their time a partyin’ instead a fightin’!” Marjorie put together some great leftovers for me and they drove me back to the highway the next morning. A few weeks later, over the phone with my daughter I asked if she had called all the people I had asked her to call and thank them for having helped me. She said, "Yeah I did dad, this one guy after I told him why I was calling he said, Yeah, I told him to load the fuck up!” I couldn’t believe he said that to me dad!” I could believe it, and so could Marjorie. My daughter added that Malcolm was very concerned about me and wanted to know how I was doing... not all saints hold crosses out in front of them. "Don't Drink????" During breakfast he invited me to his apartment to take a shower and do my laundry. I, of course, jumped at that chance. We walked over to his little apartment as he pushed his bike along. His place was in a very old and large boarding house. As soon as he opened the door to his spotlessly clean apartment, he pointed to a large glass punch bowl full of change and insisted I get my quarters out of it for the coin operated in house Laundromat. He said he had plenty of detergent I could use and then opened up his refrigerator and grabbed a beer. It wasn’t 9:00 am yet! It wasn’t long before that was empty and he had another one in his hand. We sat and talked while my clothes were washing. I lost count of the beers he drank while I was there, had to have been a twelve pack at least… in about two and a half hours. One time, as he sat back down from his trip to the fridge, and was popping the top, he told me, “Look, I was nine years old; it was New Years Eve, my 18-year-old brother, who I adored, came into my bedroom and woke me up. He said he wanted me to see something in the living room. When I got there, he said, “I’m tired of this shit Billy!” He then stuck a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out!” He then looked up at me, there were no tears, but the pain was evident to anyone with a heart, and he asked me, “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t drink?!” “Absolutely not!” I responded, “I tried to drink myself to death when I lost my son and it didn’t work for me, but… I have never worn your shoes.” He looked down at the floor for a long time and when he finally raised his head, he said, “Thank you… I appreciate that.” Hell no, I was not going to tell him what he should do! I have no idea how I would have handled it had I experienced that horror in my life at nine years old. I saw his face full of pain; I thought about him the next few nights… what in God’s name do you say to that kind of pain?
|
|
