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{Tidbit}

10/01/02
October finds me in the Seattle area. I'm staying with Karen, a friend from high school, and her family.

10/02/02
I had a little freakout today, but I got past it by talking to friends and taking action, two of my strongest tools. I thought I had $250 to get me through getting home later in the month, but I found out instead that my checking account was overdrawn. I have to move some money from savings, but that's going to take a while since I purposely have a fairly inaccessible account.
It's amazing how quickly I dropped back into my money issues.

10/04/02
Today was my day to venture out, and I have a lot of fear. I feel fear. Even with that restatement, I can't say though, that I'm afraid.
I knew this fear would be here someday. I knew the days and months on the trail, and the process that led to me starting the trail would upset my life. It's one of the reasons I decided to take the leap.

Back before, in the early part of my hike, I felt like I was jumping into the void. In general, I'm able to jump into voids easily. Now that the void, the void created by quitting my job, giving up my place and letting the cards fall, is coming to a close, now that I can see the bottom, or end, of the void, I have this fear. I guess I should be prepared to jump into another void, the void of being broke and without a home.
It's the broke part that is scary. My drama with having no money in my checking account is in full swing. I need a haircut, but there's no money. I walked around Seattle today hungry. I think I was hungrier because I couldn't afford to eat. I brought food to eat, but it was not enough. To tone down the drama a bit, I was not starving, and there was food at home. And I did have $15 in my pocket when I left the house this morning.

I did not have a destination today: I was just going to Seattle.

I'm waiting for the bus. I just missed one of five or six morning commuter busses that go down the thoroughfare near Karen's house, so I'm waiting in the damp morning as dawn turns to daylight watching everybody driving to work. At least I'm not doing that yet.

When I arrived in downtown Seattle, I had to decide what I wanted to do. I went to AAA to get maps, so that I knew where my unknown destination was. I worked my way back to Westlake Station, via the Michael Graves building near the Space Needle and a CinemaScope theater showing Lawrence of Arabia in 70mm, to get transit info for today and tomorrow. The schedule of Lawrence of Arabia didn't allow me to see it and still catch my bus back home. I have never seen it.
Once I knew how to get where I didn't know I was going, I made some calls.

Yesterday, I checked in with Karen. I'd been there a week, and been there for two of the four family birthdays. I wanted to make sure I was not overstaying my welcome.
During the course of the evening, she talked to her family, and at the end of the evening, she spoke with me. Things are fine, but it's probably time to be thinking about moving on.
Karen and I have always had a good relationship, and I'm glad she took the time to feel things out. I'm happy to have had a comfortable, easy place to stay, and happy to have had the time with Karen. The insulation provided by a nuclear family and the deep suburbs was just what I needed.
As it turns out, I was getting ancy to move on in step with their desire to return to their routine. I sent a few emails and went to bed.

Back in the Transit Tunnel, I first called Michael and Stephen who had extended an invitation to stay with them in the past. I reached Stephen on his mobile. He was fine with me staying in their place in Seattle and told me Michael was housesitting in Vashon, and I could stay with him too.

Excellent.

I then called other people I wanted to get together with, either today or in the coming week. No plans formed for today, but things look good for next week.
Stephen mentioned that he'd sent me an email, so that got the idea in my head that I had to check my email. I found the library's address from a phone book, then found I was close to the main library. Those maps were paying off already.

I set off and made an appointment for Internet access when I arrived.

It was still early, and I was hungry. I found a juice place that had rice and beans for $3, so I spent 1/5th of my fortune on it. It was weird debating whether to spend $3 on food. A year ago I wouldn't hesitate buying a $7 appetizer before a proportionally as expensive salad and entree.
My hunger is lingering from the trail. My body thinks it needs the calories it has needed for the last five months. I knew it would happen. So I had to eat.

I had my 45 minutes on the computer, then moved on.

I went to Pike Street Market. People have all said that Pike's Market is great. It's a market...where they throw fish for the tourist cameras. I did find a bulk food store and bought some brown rice and rye for future meals. $2.50 more was gone.
I then went to the natural foods store which had almost no food. It was all vitamins and supplements. It should have been called the natural foods replacement store.
I decided that I would check on the free days at the Seattle Art Museum. While I was walking there , I passed the AIA office. In the window was a map with a short architectural tour that included the museum. I was on the right track.

The nice woman at the museum informed me that the free day was the first Thursday of the month. Today is the first Friday. I was disappointed.
I was about to leave when the nice lady called me back. "Sir? Admission is by donation. I know people who have donated ten cents and gotten in. I think you should pay what you can."
Wow.
I had two quarters in my pocket and decided to give it a try. It worked. I saw some interesting art, including a retrospective of a now-famous, now-dead Seattle artist, Morris maybe? The rest of the museum was insufferable. I guess I like contemporary art as a rule.
The building wasn't all that great, but I'd just seen so many amazing landscapes on the trip, how could something man-made and semi-permanent compare?

Now I was killing time until I could catch the commuter bus back to Karen's. I'd glided past Seattle Center, been downtown, hit Pike's Market. I guessed that Pioneer Square was next. I made my way, and ate my lunch on a bench when I arrived.

Needing to kill even more time, I boarded the Seattle's historic waterfront streetcar. They said the round-trip would kill an hour with the 20 minute layover we'd have at the other end. So I saw the waterfront.

At the north end of waterfront railroad tracks parallel the streetcar. A train full of two layers of white American cars or SUVs went by. The railcars had an opaque grate, so I couldn't see exactly what kind of vehicles they were. I wonder where cars head by rail? Did they come off a ship?

The trolley took me back to my starting point. I ran to the post office, spending just over $2.00 for the postcard stamps I needed, then dashed to catch the bus. It passed me as I approached it but I caught it at the light and he let me on. I think I'm on the right bus. We'll see.

10/06/02
I've finally read Yogi's journal. I really appreciate her style. I feel so wordy and wordy and wordy in comparison. I know it's just a matter of style. Her style is easy to read, fast to read, and entertaining.
Although I didn't miss her much when I got back on the trail, I sure do miss her now.
On the trail, each day was itself. I needed to know where my water was and where my friends would be camping. That was all.
Sometime I needed to know where the trail was, but most of the time it was evident. I didn't need to know what the weather was. I was hiking in it, rain or shine. I didn't need to know how much up or down there was. I was hiking it, high or low.

OK. Once in a while I needed to know how far the next town was so that I could plan my arrival around PO hours. That kind of information, multi-day information, was very foreign to me. Most of the time, I had data gal (Yogi or Flutterby) who was always on top of it. Or I just forgot that I needed to plan out my hiking days and miles to my advantage. It never was a problem. It just meant a tweak in the schedule.

I have to refer you all to one of Yogi's post-trail journal entries. If the link does not work for you, it's "Post -#5."
I wrote an email to her while I read her journal, commenting on what hit me. Her Post-5 entry talked a lot about what I think is going on for me.
I'm not in the exact place, for one because I'm still in post-trip limbo. She had her home to return to. I'm couch surfing indefinitely. [Couch surfing at worst. I have yet to sleep on a couch after my trip. :-)]

I'm also not in the same place because I'm Cupcake and she's Yogi. (I can't imagine calling Yogi "Jackie." I don't know Jackie, although I've heard stories about her. )
So, in this email, I worked some things out. Here's some of what I said:

Yogi, Your last few post-trail entries got me thinking, and a little emotional.
The emotions came from the revelations from your heart. I'm glad to hear
that you are not through thru-hiking. You told me in Skykomish, but reading
it, and hearing it today, 10 days after finishing, it made more sense.

I'm thinking about my approach to the hike. At worst, I saw it as a chunk
out of my life, on the lines of: I worked 40 hours a week for X years, hiked
the PCT, went back to 40 hours per week, then died.
At best, I'd hoped I'd have huge transformations on the PCT.

I think I fell somewhere in between the best and the worst. I'm not aware
of my changes and transitions. I am aware that it's VERY likely that I have changed. It just happened slowly on a day-by-day basis, so it's not evident to me. Lots more there, but I want to get onto your post-trail entries.

So then I think, am I part of the thru-hiker community? Have I become one
of them? I love the PCT Class of 2002, and felt entirely part of it on the trail.
Am I going to arrange my life to allow more thru-hiking? How can I ever
manage to pay for the CDT? What if my life were focused now on income and funding my trips? What would that be like? Would I be able to do it? Is
my desire to be a part of the thru-hiker community strong enough to keep me on-track while off the trail?
I like to live, wherever I am. So it's hard, even when I'm working toward a financial goal, to not live fully TODAY. I go to shows and performances. I go out to dinner. I take weekend trips.

I'm also very clear that I have no regrets about the money I spent on my PCT adventure, even as I sit here in Seattle dead broke. In my mind, there seems to be a clear-cut division between on- and off-trail time and money. On the trail, I HAD to be full. I had to eat as much as I could. Here, sitting around in Seattle, I can be hungry. It's probably good for me in the long run. My lack of funds has curbed my eating out. I have a big pot of beans of the stove, a big container of cooked rice in the refrigerator, and little other inexpensive and/or essential foods.

I also read, then re-read, your September 12th entry. I too felt ripped away from trail life. Bug, Flutterby, and Cheddarhead just drove off. Strawberry Girl and Blackhawk drove off. There was no way to make it easy, other than they drove off at different times from different places. Suddenly I was with no other thru-hikers.

I belong to several tribes. The Billy Club and the radical faeries are two
of them. When I leave my Billy or faerie brothers, I know I'll see some or
most of them again. You keep telling me that the thru-hiker community is
small, so I'll just have to believe that I'll see some of my thru-hiking
tribe again in the real world or on the trail. But there's no guarantee. I
guess that's just life.
I know I'll see you again, and Gottago, Flutterby, Iron Chef, and Blackhawk & Strawberry Girl.
There's tons of people that I'd like to see again, but probably will not: Geoff with a G, Cosue, Brett, Max ("Women call me Climax."), Cheddarhead, Load, the two Joes, Sam I Am, Ivan, Rubber Chukie, Tapeworm, and lots other. Then there's the one's I may or may not see, like Happy JO (& Jen), Don & Leslie, and others.

I think what I need with everyone is a sense of closure for the hike. I got
to see Little Ewok and Sundance in Seattle. I got closure. Sure, it would
be great to see them again, but at least it's closed.

Here's what it is:
On the trail, I often had the expectation that I'd see people again. I never
knew the last time I saw them that it would be the last time. I actually
had the opposite with Don & Leslie. I had several times in Washington that
I thought it would be the last time I saw them, and then we'd be in town, or
even camping, together again. But everyone else is like a loose thread.

10/8/02
Tonight I went to dinner with Ken and Ellen, friends from my Monterey Bay days.

While getting to their house, I had to make a bus transfer in downtown Seattle during rush hour. There I was, one of the people not working, one of the people I'd always wanted to be, and I didn't have a big smile on my face. I wasn't care free. I felt just as pinched and grim as the 40-hour-a-week crowd. I guess I have my own set of worries and concerns. At least I didn't feel a part of them.
It was pretty weird. I'd longed for so long to be out of the grind, sure that my unhappiness was from the grind.
I'll be thinking about this one for a while.

Dinner was nice. We ate at Aqau Verde near UW. We then went and soaked in their hot tub. That was nice too.

10/11/02
Staying at Michael and Stephen's has been nice. They've let me be completely at home. I've watched a lot of movies and stayed inside for days on end. Thanks guys.

10/12/02
Favaro's in Seattle.
Went with Favero to SeaTac to pick up Tommy. He's back from performing in Japan. I've been waiting in Seattle for him to get back. I'm glad I finished when I did so I had all this time to hang around this town. Tom and I are going to drive back to the Bay Area.

10/13/02
Favaro's in Seattle.
We picked up Tom's Chinook today. It's a small Winabego Tom's been living in since I've known him. It's a beat-up mess, but it's fun. It's our wheels back to the Bay Area. Had lunch with Ti and got to see Ti's studio.

Hanging out a Favero's has been great. We have a back cabin to ourselves. It's all quite nice. We watched Strangers on a Train. Then we watched South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Twice.

10/15/02
A road off Hwy. 101 on the coast of Oregon.
Tom and I stayed with DD last night in Portland. I did an interview this morning for a possible radio show with an amazing friend of mine. He's odd, but perfect in a strange way. He's honest and sincere about being way out of the norm.

We are not going to to Breitenbush, so we decided to take the coast.

Being in the Chinook with Tom is fun. The Chinook is tiny, but it all works.

After it was dark we went for a walk. We found ourselves navigating a maze of white sand and dark trees in the fog and wind. We went a long way with lots of forks and paths going in all directions.
We climbed then stopped on a high spot. Tom made three pairs of concentric circles around me. I stood in the center, below the white sky on the white ground. Dark night was pushing in with roars from the distant ocean blending with the wind. Leaning dead trees made dark slashes in front of me, and I went inside. I entered this surreal place calling fresh water to my side. I wasn't sure if Tom was even there anymore. But he was.

We were not on drugs.

10/16/02
Eugene, Oregon
We awoke at Alecia and Bob's driveway, then had breakfast with my former Eugene roommate Charles. Then we drove.

10/17/02
South of Arcata, California
We pulled into our place for lunch, a spot that was at the right time and near the water. It was on the coast in California, by the border with Oregon. By chance, we'd even found a place with running water, toilets and a view of the ocean.
We pulled lunch together quickly, and were about to sit down and eat when a woman or two came running toward us.
"Dial 911! Call 911. There's a woman drowning! Do you have a cell phone?"
We both nodded no, but the surfer dude next to us nodded yes. I saw him dialing as I followed Tom as he ran toward the site of the drowning.

Wait a minute. The commotion was happening away from the ocean. This was not a dive-in-the-surf kind of rescue. When I arrived, I saw a woman standing hip deep in brown water at the bottom of a steep, small gully. Clearly she wasn't drowning. I turned around and looked at the sufer dude, who had made his way over. He was not on the phone. I gave him the thumbs up.
The woman was trying to get out of the stream and canyon with the help of her friends and Tom. She moved up stream about 7 feet and was able to crawl out on all fours, move into the open and roll onto her back.
She was shivering and perhaps going into shock. I asked if they had any extra clothes or blankets.

"We don't have anything."

For the whole episode up to this point, it seemed like I was dealing with homeless people, washed up women living on the dangerous edge. How the fuck did she get in the stream when there's a bridge right above her? What were these women doing here?
I knew that she needed help, but I was also wondering why people don't take better care of themselves? Why do they let themselves get into desperate places?
I followed Tommy as he ran to get a blanket. One of the friends was quizzing surfer dude about the 911 call. He couldn't get a signal. I suggested they try the pay phone near the restrooms.

"Of course! I forgot about that!"

She ran over, returned, and reported the phone was gone; removed.
Just then a black Explorer pulled in and she ran up to them asking if they had a cell phone and to dial 911.
They did. They got involved.
I continued back toward the Chinook and saw Tom coming out with a blanket.
We had needed another blanket to keep us warm on this trip, so Tom had picked up this blanket yesterday. He was thrilled with its softness. And here he was about to give it away. He put it on the muddy, damp shivering woman and moved away.
The fire department was the first on the scene, and then the ambulance arrived.
The women were park employees who were there painting the 6 foot long bridge. They were looking for a place to put the board that spanned the creek. They stood on this board to paint the sides of the bridge. The woman had done a headplant into the stream after tripping, thus the appearance of drowning.

We went back to our lunch. They thanked the guys for the use of their phone, but not Tommy for his new new blanket, which went off with the woman to the hospital.

Despite the fact that the woman had to got to the hospital, there was lots to laugh at. Plus, I'm thinking it might have been an end-of-the-season Workman's Comp setup. Something wasn't right about it. Do I have a bad attitude? Maybe

After that, the rest of the day was uneventful. We got groceries in Arcata, and pulled off the road an hour further south.

10/18/02
Santa Cruz, California
Turns out the road we parked on was a logging road. 20 vehicles had passed by 8AM.

We made it to Santa Cruz and went to Dance Jam, which was sweet. I got to see a few friends and dive into the best that Santa Cruz has to offer.

10/20/02
I went to Dance Church and it was not magical. Part of it is that I'm depressed . The other part is that my body is a backpacking body. I have slow-twitch muscles galore. Still it was good to see the familiar faces.

On the trail, I'd held on to the anticipation of returning to Dance Church. I was able to let it go. It was just another thing to do, but it wasn't the best thing in the world.

10/23/02
-Trail Names and Nicknames-
Who was Cupcake anyway? I used to ask a similar, but opposite, question on the trail: Who was John anyway?

I learned, reading Yogi's journal, that her definition of a trail name makes a distinction from a nickname. A nickname is a name that you arrive on the trail with. A trail name comes from circumstances on the trail.

Cupcake is a nickname that I used on the trail since the name did not originate from the trail itself according to Yogi's definition. Finding out I had a nickname, and not a trail name, stung a little at first, just a little.

Then I decided it didn't make any difference. If I'd waited for a trail name, it might have not come along, and I wanted a trail name. I wanted to leave John behind for the hike. And I think I did, as much as one can leave oneself behind.
The trail name I could have taken, proposed by DLow, was Tech Cake. DLow was looking for something to call me other than Cupcake. I think calling another man Cupcake upset a fundamental balance in his psyche.

Then again, he could have thought it was just a stupid name.

Tech Cake came along because he saw all the technology I had on the trail and town: my Palm, keyboard, MiniDisc, and digital camera that I carried, and the laptop that I bounced. The thing is that if I'd been calling myself John, waiting for an incident and bolt of inspiration that led to a trail name, Tech Cake would not have come along.
That's probably WAY too much thinking about that topic.

When I lived in Micronesia, we learned a saying: New Island, New Life. It means that you can pick up and move somewhere and make huge changes in your life if you want to. You don't have to be the same person. You can even change email addresses. It's a chance to try on new ways of being (sorry, I know I've been in California too long), to forget about the past, or to claim a part of you that's lost New Island, New Life.

Trail names are kind of like New Island, New Life. There's a whole world that know you as your new name. A new name does not have the baggage. You don't hear your mother's voice. You don't hear kids in school. You don't hear past lovers. A new name is a new you.

In some ways a trail name or a nickname for the trail is better than New Island, New Life. New Island, New Life can lead to secrets and can be borne out of secrets. Take that dark energy and contrast it to the possibilities a new name offers, and a new name wins every time.
This seems to have turned into a sales pitch for taking a new name. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. I don't think it will work. Move to a new island and change your name. Or hike.

10/30/02
Prunedale, California
I'm at my Dad's place. All the boxes I sent home during the course of the trip are here, and I get to deal with them.

I had decided on October 22 to apply for an MFA in Screenwriting from UCLA. The application deadline is November 1. I decided two nights ago, despite the amount of effort I'd put into it, that it wasn't something I wanted to do. It's nice to have that clarity, but a bummer that I've been racing around for a week.

I also decided that I just can't afford to go to Argentina. Tom, Matt, and I had decided to go before I left for the PCT. They'll be going without me. I'll really miss going to Buenos Aires and Patagonia, but my 401k took a big enough hit while I was on the trail. Taking the same amount again to travel just didn't make sense.

10/31/02
Saratoga Springs, near Ukiah, California
At the Halloween Billy Club gathering with Tom and David, and lots of other wonderful men. It's great to be here.

Well, that's it for this journal. It feels a bit arbitrary to cut it off at the end of October. I'm still living my life. I'll put any additional thoughts about the PCT in my Epilogue.