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[talesfromtheshelf]

A Mysterious Miyata Appears

TL;DR version: Got a new old bicycle.

---

Sep 18 (5 days ago)

to 3jvdm-46649409

Hello, I saw your craiglist ad and am interested in checking out your bicycle. May I come by to see if it's a good fit? I ride a 58cm, so hopefully it should work for me. 

I live nearby and can drive over anytime today or this weekend. Thank you.

- Steven

---

Sep 19 (4 days ago) to 472b191f8ed131

THANKS STEVEN,

I THINK YOU WILL LIKE THE BIKE I’M AROUND THIS WEEKEND AT XXXX S GRAND AVE PASADENA 911XX CALL BEFORE COMING

REGARDS TONY 

---

Sept 21  Sunday 10:30 am

After a gross heat wave all week, it's finally nice and gloomy on the quick drive up to Pasadena. I pull up to a large corner estate in the old money (as old money as any place in LA can be) part of town. There's young people music thumping and the gate is open. Did I arrive in time for a party? I ring the door bell and an old guy with glasses comes out to greet me. 

"Come on in! I'm Tony. Let me show you the bike, it's right over here."

It's a really nice house.

"This is a really nice house." "Thanks, yeah it's one of the grand old houses around here. Oh, this is my son, his name is also Steven."

A skinny high school kid walks past me with a nod, he's carrying a skeleton and some plastic tombstones. It must be his music that's blasting outside. Father and son are putting up Halloween decorations on a Sunday afternoon,  aw.

The dad shows me the bike. It's pretty old, rusty in places. Black with orange decals and lots of stuff weighing it down. 

"Take it out for a ride, see if you like it." I take it around the block, it rides well. Feels a little small compared to my old bike but it's comfortable. When I get back, I hem and haw for a bit. "Can I have a few minutes to think about it?"

"Sure, take all the time you want. I'm going to be putting up these decorations, I'll be in and out." I examine the bike to see what model it is and snap some pictures. I google what details I see but nothing definitive comes up. 

It's a touring bike of some kind, looks like it's seen plenty of miles.

"Have you taken this bike on a road trip yet? It's pretty broken in."

"Nah. I just ride it to the Rose Bowl and back. Well I used to, after my eye surgery my doctor said I shouldn't ride anymore."

"Ah I'm sorry to hear that. So you bought it off someone then?" "Yeah, I got it at a swap meet, I think, like 2 years ago. By the way, are you single?"

"What? Uh. Yeah, why?"

"Oh good, I got a lot of attention from girls on this bike. Might be useful for you." (Nice salesman tactic old man, well done.)

"Haha, well that's never a bad thing. Yeah it's a good looking bike. You know what, I'm here, I need a bike, and it's a cool bike man, I've never seen one like it before. I'll take it." 

"Oh great, I hoped you would. A girl called me yesterday to take a look but I told her you were coming for it. I hope you enjoy it!"

I hand him some cash and after a handshake and some small talk (he's in the movie business; originally from New Yawk), I bring the bicycle home. Buyer's remorse immediately set in. My plan had been to buy a lighter faster bike than my last. This is the complete opposite. Always a sucker for a pretty face.

I spend the next few days scouring online for all the info I could find on the bike.

The serial number on my new bike starts with a Z463 and I am pleased. My last bike was an '82, it will be cool to try something from the next decade. 1997 was a good year.

The ancient shimano gearset look like they are from the 80s though and I can't find a '97 model that matches the decals on the bike. The closest I get is an old ebay listing. What is this, a bicycle for hamsters?

I learn more about japanese bikes and Miyata. It's a solid brand with a long history. 

The online cycling forums are pretty active with Miyata owners but no one's posted anything resembling this bike. I'm annoyed.  A librarian has one job. Find and retrieve information. I should be able to do this.

I keep digging, to no avail. In desperation I email the previous owner again. 

---

Sep 21 (2 days ago) to craigslist

Hi Tony, thanks again for the bicycle.  I'm trying to track down the model and history of the bicycle. Could I ask you where and when you bought the bicycle? I remember you said it was at a swapmeet.  Thank you.

---

Sep 21 (2 days ago)

to 472b191f8ed131.

Steven,

It was very nice to meet you today.  I do know some information. I purchased it at the Glendale swap meet maybe 2 years ago. I rode it for a short time as I had my eye injury. The vendor who sold it to me said he bought it from a Japanese professor who moved from Japan where he had the bike in Kyoto. He thought because of the lights and siren it may have been a Kyoto policeman at some point.

Please enjoy it has a great History!

Best, Tony

---

This explains a lot. If it had only been sold in Japan, it would be hard to find information on the english web. I ask my kanji reading buddies for help.

My friends translate the rest, but there's nothing about the model name or even the year. What are you?!

As is often the case, the answer is right in front of me. I just have to ask the right person. I'm on facebook all the time. So is Miyata Bikes. They are still around.

The serial number sequence loops every 26 years. It's not from 1997, it's from 1971. Damn.

It's well preserved for its age, has the original saddle and cracked radial tires even. The original disc brake is disconnected, it has standard caliper brake now. The wiring still works. The original owner must have loved it very much, enough to ship it overseas and keep it together. I wonder where else it's been.

Part of me wants to flip it for more cash and get what I really wanted, a nice modern touring bicycle. Something that won't make me curse my friends and their featherweight speedsters on those long rides.

 But who am I kidding. I ♥ this piece of junk already. It's a keeper. Time to bring it back to life.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Papers Please

I called the federal passport agency last week to make an appointment to get my stolen passport replaced. The friendly lady on the line told me I was in luck.

"This coming Saturday, at the Los Angeles office, it is passport day."

"Oh. What is passport day?"

"Once or twice a year, we open up the office on a Saturday. You can go in without an appointment. It's from 7:30 am to 11:30 am. You will have to wait a little."

"Oh perfect, I'm going to be in LA this weekend, I'll swing by. So I don't need an appointment?"

"Nope."

"Thanks!" After gathering my papers, I drove to Santa Monica on friday to crash at my friend's pad; he wanted to catch 토끼Monsta at the El Rey. After pregaming with some classy KFC, we headed out.

My memory of the show is hazy but I remember the lyft rides to midtown and back.

---

/waiting outside. A T-shirt and jeans kind of night. LA weather is best.

Francois: /looking at his lyft app. "What the fuck is a Buick Enclave?" Me: "Beats me. What's a Buick?" F: "I know, right." A large black minivan pulls up. It's a Buick Enclave.

F: "Man, I have to sit in the front and make conversation huh. Fuck." Me: "Hahaha. Hey they are people too." F: "Yeah." The car is roomy and comfortable inside. The driver is a white guy with a cap, can't tell whether he's 20 or 30something. By the pleasant alt-rock tracks playing, I guess he's around my age. I don't remember the titles of the songs but I know them. I help out with le small talk. Me: "How's your night going bro? We your first customers?" Driver: "Not bad man. Yep, just getting started, you are my first clients for the night. We use the word clients not customers at lyft." Me: /thinking. "Cool cool."

He share a bit about what it's like to be a lyft driver, he started this past summer. I ask about the gas mileage, his buick only gets 14 mpg but he still turns a profit when he's out. Not bad. Francois takes over the small talk while I look out the window. It's been a while since I sat in the backseat.

It's nice seeing the familiar streets pass by. The chocolate's hitting, that old dissociative warmth washes over. For a few moments here and there, the concrete and lights fall apart and reassemble. LA's not a pretty city but it doesn't need to be. It's got its own set of charms. 

<several untz untz untz later>

F: "It's your turn to make small talk bro." Me: "Yeah, fine." The lyft car pulls up and I get into the passenger's seat. It's a black guy this time, he's driving I forget what car. It's crisp and clean inside, the dash lit with blue and white lights. He's bumping some old school hip hop, it's nice. We roll down the windows as we cruise. My favorite part about heat waves in LA are the warm nights. 

He's friendly and shares some good stories.

Driver: "Yeah man, I haven't been doing this long, but it's good money. You do meet some crazy people. Like check it, a few weeks ago, I picked up this couple, white ppl. As soon as we left, my car was being followed by like 3 other cars. I was like, what's going on man? They were all sorts of fucked up but they wouldn't tell me anything. The girl was real pretty though. I dropped them off and they took off running. They must've been on the run from something. The cops contacted me a few days later and asked me questions but I didn't know shit."

Me: "Oh man, that's crazy. Yeah you must pick up a lot of obnoxious drunk kids too huh." Driver: "Yeah, you do, but it's not so bad. I met some cute shorties last night, got one of their numbers. Gonna try to hit that up later. Hey man, so where we going?" Me: "Sawtelle and 405, just head towards santa monica. You know the way?" Driver: "Yeah I got this." I'm pretty useless by this hour but I can still tell he's getting us lost on purpose. I don't mind so much, I'm enjoying his stories and the drive. We wander all the way to La Cienega until Francois wakes up and gets us going the right way. Our driver has one hand on his phone the whole drive back, swiping right like there's no tomorrow. We share a few chuckles about dat #tindergame.

I check the e-receipt later, it's $35, 'bout $10 more than it should've been. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---

We wake up early the next morning, too early. I drop Francois off at the airport, he's heading up to the bay to continue partying with the other cool kids. Afterwards, I headed for the federal building to handle my passport business. It's right by UCLA.

It's 8:30 am when I arrive and 1:30 pm when I leave. 5 hours in queue, a personal record!

The weather's kinda gloomy, a perfect compliment to the gray brutalist architecture enveloping us. The people around me are patient and polite, all clutching to their precious papers like me.

I nap mostly, waking up each time the drool reaches my chin. When I finally reach the inner sanctum, my ticket number is C336. The count is currently at C351. The numbers must loop. Back to sleep. Zzz.

When my number's finally called, I only spend 5 minutes at the window. The guy helping me is pleasant and wearing a Hawaiian shirt, looks like he's in his 40s. He seems to be enjoying his job.

I have to ask him. How can I not?

"Hey have you heard of this game, it came out last year. It's called Papers, Please." "Nope, can't say I have." "Ah, I think you might like it. Well, maybe you won't haha. It's this small indie game that takes place in an imaginary soviet bloc country during the cold war. You play a passport agent who has to inspect the papers of people who want to pass through the border. It's totally like what you're doing now! They have the same stamp as you too!" "Interesting. Well I hope your experience today wasn't as dystopian as the game sounds! I know the line was crazy long." "Yeah, it was long but it's okay, it is what it is. I napped a lot. You should check out the game, it's pretty clever and there's like a cool little narrative throughout the game. But you're right, it might be a little too much uh art imitating life for you haha." "Haha yeah it might be too close to home. But sounds cool! I'll check it out."

He checks my papers and derpy new passport photo and sends me on my way. In the now empty lobby of the federal building, I see a sign for a veteran's museum on floors 3 through 7. The FBI is on floor 10. I go exploring a bit, there's no one else in the building. The exhibits are sad and neglected, looks like they haven't been touched since the cold war. Beyond the closed offices, I can feel the bureaucracy heavy in the air. 4 million people live in LA, 10 million in LA county. More than 20 million in Southern California. That's a lot of papers.

Before I head back, I grab a bowl of menudo nearby. I only started appreciating menudo recently, had it for the first time this summer in Santa Fe. Menudo is the mexican hangover soup, real mexican restaurants serve it on weekends, off the menu usually. It's very good, especially if you got the drunchies. This particular bowl hits the spot and gives me the energy to get home in one piece.

Glory to Arstotzka!

[talesfromtheshelf]

Were there any locations on your road trip that you can't get out of your head and that you might want to retire to someday? If so, where and why?

Hmm, every place was beautiful in their own way, 'merica! I really liked visiting the smoky mountains and the friendly people down there. If there's one place I want to live next though, it would be in New England, near Boston, close to the ocean. I love the trees and the ocean there. Most of all though, I loved all the small bookstores and great libraries everywhere. That part of the country I think because of all the colleges and history, they're super into books and literature and learning, it would be awesome to be a librarian and/or writer out there. I only saw a tiny bit of that area, I feel like there would be so much more to explore if I go back. Plus I still have to go to nova scotia, which I can if I live there!Thanks for asking! and thanks for reading!

[talesfromtheshelf]

Bye Bye Blue Bicycle

I used to tell my friends I loved my bicycle because it was such an old beater. I banged it up, threw it around and rode it through all the 'hoods with no worry. Even if it got stolen, it would be no great loss.

Last night someone stole my bicycle.

It was my fault. I left it locked to the back of my car in front of our house. The bicycle thief used a bolt cutter. I should not have been so careless.

I hope it does not end up being scrapped for parts. I hope someone sees it for what is it and takes it home. I hope someone is riding it now. I hope they enjoy it as much as I did. 

Thanks bicycle. When I was alone, you were always there. We went to a lot of cool places together. I will never forget you. Take care.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Record of Legacy War 1: The End of Friendship

Time: Midsummer 2128 Location: Earth-00047770

Record of Legacy War 1

[announce confidential legacy opening intro]

[declare confidential legacy faction descriptions]

[Begin]

The Qhans struck first. This is the mantra we remember. But in truth, no one remembers who struck first. Which faction ended the friendship. Began the war.

We do record the first battle was between Qhans Industries(QI) and the Bear. Somewhere near New Beijing on Southern Cuntery.

The strategy of QI was clear from the start. Victory. Always play to win.  The Bear was simple. Chaos and blood. They were out to play. The skirmishes quickly spread to the Imperials near Pho Dac Biet region. They forged an early truce with Die Mechs near Number1City and defended the east.

For a time, it seemed QI would end the war quickly. The Bear was driven back and the rest of the world quivered. But as battles spread, new powers emerged. Provoked, the Desert Beach People rose up to defend their homeland and drove QI back across the northern Wall. With QI weakened, the proud Imperials seemed poised to take over as victor. As the end drew near, a surprise scar from Die Mechs assisted QI, who quickly returned to power.

In the end, the war ended as all wars do. With a victor. Those who struck first also won first.  Forever remembered as She Who Named Our First Continent "The Cuntery."

Victor of Legacy War 1 - Qhan Industries (QI), 9/14/14.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 85: Thank You and Good Night

Well, I'm back.

Thank you family for your love and patience. We are a large clan and growing larger still but I checked, there is more than enough space in this country for all of us. Keep popping out those babies!

Thank you home friends for your support and uh, friendship. See you soon, I brought exotic drinking snacks for us to consume.

Thank you away friends scattered across the states, it was so fun to see you again. Visit me next! 

Thank you new friends who showed me, a strange stranger, hospitality and kindness. Y'all showed me what this country is really made of. Good people and strong 'effin drinks. America!

Most of all, thank you dear reader for taking the time to check my oh so TL:DR blog. The road was lonely at times but I never felt alone because I knew you were here with me. Especially YOU. /points finger.

I hope you had fun reading my cheese as much as I enjoyed writing it. Tales from the Road is over now, but don't worry. Tales from the Shelf will continue. Like the open road, the cheese never ends!

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 85: Okay Google, Navigate Home.

Location: Phoenix, Arizona Date: Tuesday September 2, 2014 "Okay Google. Navigate Home."

"Navigating Home."

Homies, let's go home.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 76 - 84: The Floating Desert

Location: Chandler, Arizona Dates: Sunday August 24th, 2014 to Monday September 1st, 2014

The desert heat here is unbearable but it's okay. I have found purpose and pleasure indoors as a domestic. While Cat is out working, I cook and clean and enjoy the resort apartment lifestyle. There are free fitness classes at the gym every day, I do circuit training and yoga and zumba with the ladies. My hips don't twerk that way but I put in the effort and try.

I read somewhere that one good indication of gender inequality is fashion. A woman dresses like a man and it's cute. A man dresses like a woman and /eyebrow raise. Same idea behind saying you [insert verb] like a girl.

Playing housewife for a week, I think a lot about this stuff. My mom told me every girl is someone's precious daughter, so stop talking about her that way. Her example taught me girls should stay home and cook and clean. I'm pretty good at making sandwiches and washing my own panties though. Does that mean I don't need a wife? Am I a man if a wife don't need me?

My friends and I struggle with dating. It's confusing out there. Try too hard, you're a douchebag. Try too little, you're feeble. Don't try at all, you're weird. If she makes more money than him, can he handle it? If he's hotter than her, can she handle it? If it weren't for greens and alcohol, no one would get laid. God's gift indeed.

Cat could use a wife. She's a HK princess with natural born 얘교, which makes her dangerous. She's even more dangerous when she puts on her scrubs, removing bullets and gall bladders and adjusting lap-bands as a trauma and bariatric surgeon.  

She used to have a schoolgirl crush on my brother (Who didn't?! Dat Dooj.) during our salad days in college. Alas he's taken so she's had to settle since for the company of the younger model. She's over it now but I still have a crush on my brother. /swoon.

I like Cat a lot, we both like to lounge and do nothing. We cook together and watch youtube all day. When the sun goes down we drink wine and float in the pool. It's nice having a girlfriend again, even if it's only pretend.

Another doctor, my cousin James, lives in Scottsdale with his wife Sunny and his two sons. He invites us over for dinner, it's great to see them again. My maturity and scholarly interests are forever that of a 9 year old boy so I love kids. While the grown-ups talk business and relationships, we play.

"Are you a master builder?" Jameson (age 8) asks. He's gotten stronger since I saw him last, little more serious too. His eyes sparkle with intelligence. He's a cool kid. 

"No, I'm okay but I'm not a master builder. My brother is a master builder."

"Uncle David?"

"Yup. He's really good at Legos. Do you want to hear the story of when we found out he was a master builder?"

"Okay."

"I want to hear too!" squeaks Kellen (age 5). He climbs into my lap. He has even more natural born 얘교 than Dr. Cat. His dad tells me later he's very popular with the ladies in kindergarten. He's sweet and sneaky and very very cute. Second sons are always the charmers. /cough.

"Once upon a time, long ago, I lived in Korea with my brother. We were just like you two monkeys."

"I'm not a monkey! Ow!" The younger one squirms as I pull his ears. 

"We lived in our grandma's house. It had a green door and a big garden with flowers and butterflies. Your dad grew up there too, when he was young. My grandma and my mom and her sisters took care of him when your grandparents first came to America."

"My dad takes good care of me!" chirps Kellen.

"Do you take good care of him?" He just grins like a monkey.

"One day my mom got a call from her friend. Her son had a problem. She asked if my brother could come and help. My brother was famous in our neighborhood for being very smart.

It was Christmas and there was snow on the ground. My mom bundled us up and we walked up a hill to her friend's house."

"Was it bigger than our house?"

"Hmm, no your house is bigger." Kellen smiles with relief.

"I had never been inside such a nice house before, it was really big. The son came down, he was a few years older than my brother, maybe 8 or 9. He looked angry to see us but he didn't say anything. His mom took my brother and me to his room. He had a lot of toys."

 "Did he have more toys than me?"

"BE QUIET!" Kellen listens to his big brother and settles down. 

"He pointed to his table where there were these blocks and a box. We had never seen Legos before, they were new. The picture on the box was a blue car. The blocks were stuck together into something that wasn't a blue car. This kid was not a master builder.

My brother took a look at the box, then at the blocks and then back at the box. He pulled apart all the blocks. He looked inside the box and found the instructions. He looked at that and then started building. I got bored and went downstairs to be with my mom.

A little bit later, there was a big whoop from upstairs and we went up to see. The son was holding up a blue car and looking very happy. My brother looked happy too. I wanted to play with the car but the son wouldn't let me. Before I started crying, my brother took my hand and we walked back home with our mother.

My brother got ₩500 as payment for his help. Our grandpa, your great grandpa, used to give each of us ₩100 coin every Sunday, but we never got ₩500 before. My brother was very proud and we were proud of him. That's when we knew he was a master builder."

Kellen squirms away and goes to the grown-up's table to flirt with Dr. Cat.

"You're a master builder too Jameson. This is a really cool plane."

"Yeah, it has radars on the back and a laser here. Let's make it combine with your rocket car."

After their dad gives them permission, the kids load up the Lego Movie video game. I try to play but it's really hard, there's too much color on the screen. Plus Kellen doesn't like to share the controller. But it's my turn Kellen!

Back at the grown-up's table, Sunny tells us about taking care of the boys and her husband, all the fun and love and work it takes. She's glad her oldest son is doing soccer practice now, it gives her some time to hang out with her friends. Being a good mom is being on call 24/7. The kids have some trouble with one level and their dad goes to help. It's still too hard so Jameson gets on youtube to cheat. His fingers move fast on the iPad, in ways my hands never will. He figures it out and they beat the level together.

We want to stay longer but kids need to go to bed, it's already late. The boys are lucky to have such parents. We thank them for the great dinner and I hug my family goodbye. Thanks James! Thanks Sunny! See you next time boys.

On the drive back, Cat and I talk about how great it is to be single and free. The road is quiet and empty and we get home quickly. It's clean in the apartment, no crayon marks on the wall, no toys on the ground to step on. We fall asleep right away, tired and full.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 72 - 76: Driving in the Land of Enchantment

Location: Santa Fe, New Mexico Dates: Wednesday August 20th, 2014 to Sunday August 24th, 2014

After two weeks of being a warg indoors, it feels great to be on the open road again. The mountains and green of Colorado are beautiful. After a few hours, the zone changes and hello New Mexico. The land of enchantment.

As my friends will eagerly tell you, I'm not a very good driver. They say a drive with Steven isn't complete without a U-Turn. Evidence supports their defamation so I can't disagree nor mind. 

I wasn't a fan of long car rides before so I wasn't sure how I'd handle the miles this summer. I'm happy to report now that the endless scenic drives have become some of my favorite memories from this trip. I can see why the automobile was invented here. This is car country. 

An old friend who made this drive a few years back warned me about the long road. At times, you will lose your mind because you will think the same recursive thoughts one too many times over.

Maybe it's because I'm already slightly unhinged but I didn't have that problem at all. There is always something to mull over, some new scenery to marvel at. Sometimes my mind just goes blank. I am driving. I was driving. I will always be driving. We are part of the road and the road is part of us. Just drive. 

When I reach Santa Fe, I find a quiet hostel and stay for 3 nights. I spend most of the time at the local public library reading and writing and eating a lot of great Mexican food. El menudo es bueno.

On my last day, I stop by the annual Native American market/festival downtown. It's great to see so many tribes from all over North America represented and celebrating their cultures. In front of one art museum, a banner reads: "Everything you know about Indians is wrong." I don't know much and what I do know is probably wrong. Dooládó’ dooda da.

I really love Santa Fe. It's my second time here. I hope to return again soon.

After New Mexico, I drive through a crystal forest and then spend one last night in my car at a truck stop. A mosquito slips in to spend the night; its buzz and bite remind me fondly of all the other bugs I've fed this summer. I really am getting sentimental now that my trip is near the end.

The next morning I arrive in Phoenix and meet an old college friend for brunch. It's her birthday! Happy Birthday Cat! 

"Hey, are you sure it's okay I stay with you?"

"Of course. Stay as long as you want!"

So I stay. For a long time. So long that I finally catch up on this blog.

I am still here!

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 58 - 72: Adventures in Dogsitting

Location: Aurora, Colorado Dates: Wednesday August 6th, 2014 to Wednesday August 20th, 2014.  

It was great to stay with my brother and sister-in-law again. Guest room with a real bed. Clean hot shower. Home cooked free meals. Crystal is a great chef. Thanks Crystal! Thanks Brother!

They had planned to drive with their dogs to LA for vacation. I was suppose to arrive after they returned. Since I got there early, I offered to dog-sit for them. They could fly instead of driving then and have more freedom back home. Offer accepted! And so began my first post librarian career as a professional dog sitter.

I never took care of a dog before so I walked with Crystal to the local public library and borrowed some books on training dogs. Teddy and Oliver are good dogs but they have some separation anxiety issues. Sometimes Oliver eats poo. As the superior being and their new pack leader, I vowed to cure them of their behavioral problems.

After I dropped off their owners at the airport, I returned and sat the dogs down. In a steady and firm voice, I informed my new wards of their upcoming rehabilitation program. They looked at me while I spoke, then looked at each other, then trotted away. Alright dogs. I see how it is. Game on.

Some time later.  

Their gentle scratches wake me up, as they do every morning.

I rub my eyes and wipe the drool off my mouth. "Good morning boys."

They smile and wait for me to get up. "Breakfast time already? Okay."

I pour out their kibble and they eat while I prepare my breakfast. Crystal left me a lot of food. It's nice to be cooking in a full kitchen again.

The boys play in the yard while I hang out in the house. I have no idea what day it is. It doesn't really matter. Every day is the same.

I read and write and catch up on the shows. I listen to music. I play my guitar. Teddy likes my songs. Oliver not so much.

In the evening, the boys come up to me and shake their heads. "Oh that's right. It's time for the W."

I put on their leashes and they take me for a walk. It's the one time I leave the house during the day. I really enjoy my walks. Teddy poops more than Oliver. I'm good at picking up poo. "Rabbit! Boys! Rabbit!" We run after the rodents. They're too fast. We hate rabbits.

Rabbits poop and piss in our yard. Brother doesn't like that. We chase the rabbits out but they always come back. They laugh at us. We hate rabbits. 

"Next time boys. Next time. I'll bring my airsoft rifle. We'll get them. Rabbit stew. Rabbit hats. Rabbit fur coats. We'll put their heads on spikes around our territory. That will show them."

We hate rabbits.

Teddy teaches me a lot about listening and empathy. Oliver teaches me a lot about tracking rabbits and protecting our home. Sometimes strangers come to the door to drop off boxes but we chase them away. This is our territory.

I eat everything I can find in the house. I'm very good at sniffing out snacks and sweets. I gain back all the weight I've lost on this trip and then some. Life is good.

Two weeks pass like a breeze. Brother and Crystal return. I guess I should take a shower. We're glad they are back. I enjoy the full house for a few days and hit the road again. Next time I see them, there will be a small addition to our pack. I can't wait to meet her.

Goodbye boys. Take good care of Brother and Crystal. Thanks for taking care of me. See you next time.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 56 - 58: Last Camp

Location: Hot Springs, South Dakota Dates: Monday August 4th, 2014 to Wednesday August 6th, 2014

After Mt. Rushmore, I drove south and looked for a place to camp for the week. I've always liked camping but now I love it. The campgrounds outside of California are more affordable, $5-15 a night. With an off-road vehicle, you can also find public wilderness land to camp on for free. General rule is 14 days at a time in one location. So if you had a big truck, moved every few weeks and knew how to fish and live off the land, you can survive in America for very little money for a long time. Sounds lovely, no?

I don't have those skills and I enjoy my hot showers so I found a place on the map called Hot Springs, South Dakota. It was very different from the Hot Springs, Virginia I had stayed at two months ago, but the water was just as nice and clean. 

After the first night, it started raining. I went into town to get some food and shelter. It was a small mountain town, smallest town I'd seen yet. There were a handful of bikers still passing through on the way up to Sturgis. After dinner at a family restaurant I walked down the street to get some ice cream. It wasn't a ghost town but it was getting there. More lingering stares from locals and a few curses came my way from passing trucks. On the walk back to my tent, I saw someone had scribbled FAG on the sidewalk in front of a school. I didn't like this town.

At night, the rain turned into a thunderstorm. It was hard to sleep with the lightning coming down around my tent. "Struck by lightning" is a euphemism for impossible odds right? I asked wikipedia.

"The chance of an average person living in the US being struck by lightning in a given year is estimated at 1 in 500,000, while the chance of being struck by lightning in a lifetime is 1 in 6250 (estimated lifespan of 80 years). "

1 in 6,250? Those are terrible odds! I read on.

"Lightning strikes can produce severe injuries, and have a mortality rate of between 10% and 30%, with up to 80% of survivors sustaining long-term injuries. These severe injuries are not usually caused by thermal burns, since the current is too brief to greatly heat up tissues; instead, nerves and muscles may be directly damaged by the high voltage producing holes in their cell membranes, a process called electroporation."

Oh good, just nerve damage. Luckily I had some training in this, so I put one hand on my chest and another on the ground and started chatting with the gods, old and new.

The next morning, I had enough and decided to leave early. I wiped down my tent, packed up and drove south. It was a beautiful drive.

On the way, I called up my favorite person in the whole wide world.

"Hey brother. I know I was suppose to get there later this month but do you mind if I stop by sooner? I'm pretty tired."

"Hey brother! Of course! Mi Casa Zu Caca!"

In the background, "He doesn't get that inside joke, stop using that phrase."

Oh but dear sister in law, I do know what he means. I know exactly what he means.

"Thanks brother. See you soon."

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 56: Rushmore

Location: Mount Rushmore, South Dakota Date: Monday, August 4th, 2014

I wanted to visit Deadwood and other wild west places in South Dakota but after two days of being surrounded by bikers, I just wanted to get out of there. Seeing all the badass motorcycles riding phalanx didn't get old but for every two or three bikers, there was a slow moving truck or a RV carrying their bikes in. They were tiresome to drive around. 

It's funny, I got the most second looks from these weekend warriors too. I couldn't help but wonder if my yellow face was ruining some narrative they had planned for their wild rebel week in the woods. In contrast, the sons of anarchy looking types actually riding their bikes were nice on the road and often waved as they passed. 

Before I left the area, I drove by Mt. Rushmore. I wasn't expecting too much, the place always seemed kinda kitschy. National monument? More like a monumental waste of tax payer money, amirite?

When I drew near though and saw the four solemn faces looking down at me in the morning light, it was pretty stunning. Looking up as I walked through the Avenue of Flags, I smiled as I remembered each state I had visited on this trip. Growing up in California, I never really thought about other states. West coast is the best coast, every other state is just some holiday destination or a middle of nowhere. How sheltered I was. There are no such things as fly-over states, just as there are no such things as insignificant people. Every state is beautiful, every person of value. United States of America.

"July 4, 1776, our forefathers promulgated a principle never before successfully asserted, that life, liberty, equality, and pursuit of happiness were the birthrights of all mankind. In this declaration of independence beat a heart for all humanity."  - Mt. Rushmore

On the short hiking trail underneath the monument, they had exhibits dedicated to each of the four Presidents and what they represented. The word "experiment" was used frequently.

---

Whenever I talk to my mom about anything, I tend to be an asshole. She mentions getting McDonald's with her friends, I tell her that shit's gonna kill them. She shows me something she got from Walmart on sale, I educate her on wage slavery and underclass trolls. She asks me about work, I rant about chickenshit office politics. She turns on the news, I yell at her to stop watching bullshit propaganda. Don't even get me started on the stuff that comes out of my mouth when she asks me about girls. 

I'm 33 but when I talk to my mom I'm always a teenager. The worst kind. 

She just absorbs it of course. If I really pick at it and finally get to her, she tells me to not be so negative. Not everything is is bad. Not everyone is out to get you. There are good things and good people too. I roll my eyes at her naivety and go back to eating the food she made for me. #ThanksMom.

All the bad things that came first to my mind when I thought about this country, I've seen on this road trip. In every national park, stolen land and native blood. On country roads, poverty and racism. In every city, greed and the rage of envy. Struggle and violence, pain and anger and sadness always.

Like the four men carved into the mountain, this country is full of failures and contradictions. But that's okay. We are large and contain multitudes.

I've seen good things and met good people too. The good doesn't excuse the bad. In many ways, the good comes from the bad. For me, the good outweighs the bad. You were right 엄마. This is a great country.

But first, let me take a selfie.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 55: 99 problems but greens ain't one

Location: Black Hills, South Dakota Date: Sunday August 3rd, 2014

Thanks to the 500,000 bikers descending upon the hills around me, I'm having a hard time finding lodging. Airbnb, HotelTonight, motels, even campgrounds; they are all booked or overpriced. $175 for a motel room in South Dakota? Thank you supply and demand.

I stop at a tourist trap/rest stop to pick up some souvenirs.

As I pay, I lament to the cashier lady my woes. "Do you have an RV?" Her husband in the corner asks. "No. But I can sleep in my car." He looks at me for a minute. "I tell you what. Go west on the highway for 11 miles. Get off on the first exit after you pass the Cheyenne. There's a gas station there. You can camp there for $5."

I follow his directions and head towards the gas station. Bikers all around me. A few miles in I pass by two cop cars on the side of the road. One of them leaves and turns on his lights. I change lanes to let him pass. He follows. Fuck me.

"License and registration please."

I show him my documents politely. Cops look tougher out here, his uniform is brown and tan and his pointy badge extra shiny. He's a big tall man, not overweight, with a large white face and light blue eyes. He's calm in his tone. I wonder if he's a fan of Deadwood.

"Do you know why I stopped you?"

I know this part.

"No officer."

"If there are cars or construction on the side of the highway, you need to change lanes away from them."

"Ah I see. I didn't know that." I did know that.

He looks at my documents. "Yeah maybe in California it's not like that, but out here that's the law."

"I'm going to run your license. Step out of your vehicle please and follow me."

I do the wrong thing here. I follow him and get in his patrol car as he uses his computer.

"You heading to Sturgis?"

"Nope, just passing through."

"Where are you from? Are you working?"

He asks me several more questions calmly. I reply with short brief answers.

After a few minutes, he returns my ID and hands me some papers.

"This isn't a ticket, just a warning. Be careful out here, last month we had a construction worker get killed by a car."

"I will."

He doesn't move. He keeps looking at me and is quiet for a minute. He looks at my green hat that says Smoky on it and my fidgeting hands.

"You know, I've been doing this for twenty years. I can tell when someone is extra nervous. You seem extra nervous. Is there a reason you're so nervous?"

"What?"

"Are you transporting anything illegal in your car? Any drugs? Cocaine? Ecstasy? Marijuana? Marijuana paraphernalia?"   "What? No."

"I would like to search your car."

He looks at me plainly. His eyes are neutral. He has a great poker face. 

"May I search your car?"

I know this part. I know my rights. 

"I've been on the road for a while, I have a lot of stuff in my car. It's kind of a mess. I'd rather you not go through it."

He keeps looking at me. Not a word. I break. So easily.

"I had some smoked fish in there from Michigan but I threw it out, it went moldy. There's some papers for tobacco products but that's about it. I don't have anything. Hey don't you need a warrant to search my car? You can't just search it, right?" I'm tripping over my words.

"It's just a yes or no question. May I search your car?"

I look at him for a moment. I don't want him or his friends tracking me the rest of my time in this state. I have nothing to hide. 

"You know what, go ahead. I have nothing to hide. Go ahead."

He walks with me to my car. 

"This is good, I can write about this." I say to him as he starts going through my stuff.

"Step away from me please." 

He digs around, finds my zippo, my papers. The back of my car is a mess and stinks of moldy fish jerky and damp laundry. 

"Okay, thanks for your cooperation. I'm not going to go through your cooler."

He walks back to the side of the road with me.

"You had a lot of books back there. Are you a student?"

"No, I'm a librarian. Or used to be. Well I guess I still am."

"Oh, my mother was a librarian. Yeah I'm really into books too. I've been reading a lot about clipper ships in New England." The cops says, his eyes friendly now. "Did you know those ships were only like 200, 300 feet long? Can you imagine being on that at sea for months at a time?"

"Oh cool. Yeah I love that area. I was around Boston a few weeks ago, spent some time by the coast. Learning about the people there, I could see why the revolution started there."

Motorcycles and trucks and RVs hauling motorcycles whiz by us on the highway as the officer continues. 

"A lot of those fishermen and sailors, they were from Europe. I was reading about this. In the old world, life was very different. Most people were property, like cattle or pigs. You had your landowners and royalty, and sure a few yeomans, but the vast majority of people were property. That's why those men, after they tasted the freedom here, they were willing to spill blood and die for it. They would never be slaves again."

"You know, that's what I've seen on this road trip. I never really thought about it much before but it's true. In America you really are free. I can do whatever I want. Live anywhere I want. Be whoever I want. Start over if I want."

The officer nodded. "Yeah, in Europe, even now, if you try to start a business and fail, no one will ever work with you again. In this country, you want the guys who failed. I mean, who would know more about business than someone who's failed at it. Someone with the experience, someone who's made the mistakes, knows what to do better next time. In this country, you can start over again and again as long as you have the will." 

I tell him what happened in Minneapolis, how scared I was for my friend, how upset I had been. I tell the officer why I was so nervous when he pulled me over. No one knows where I am. I don't know anyone here. I didn't want to disappear.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. There are bad cops out there. A lot of people are attracted to the power, for the wrong reasons. In an urban area it's different too, harder. It doesn't really matter where you are, the city is always different from the country. Any city. You'll find people are similar in the country, whether it's here in the Black Hills, down in the rural south, forests of northern california. Out in the country, we watch out for our own, we take care of our people."

I imagine what the officer must have thought when he saw my car. Out of state plates, strange car strapped to a bicycle, not a motorcycle. Minority male heading into a forest teeming with drunk white people. If I was carrying #cokemollycokemolly, it would've been a very profitable week for me.

He shakes my hand as he leaves. 

"Wait, can I get your business card?"

"You're not going to put me on the internet are you?"

"Hey I told you I would write about this. Besides, if I do get into trouble, at least I'll know one person here. A good cop."

He laughs, hands me his card and wishes me a safe trip home.

After the Cheyenne, I exit and find the gas station / campgrounds. There's a grassy field next to a military surplus store where I can stay overnight. I eat some instant noodles for dinner and roll a few smokes to ease my nerves. My hands stop shaking and I don't hate cops as much as I did yesterday.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 55: Wayne Porter's Sculpture Park

Location: Montrose, South Dakota Date: Sunday August 3rd, 2014

After the excitement of the Mini Apple, it's soothing to be on the quiet road again. I plan to drive all day to Deadwood but I'm too tired from the night before. I pull over after a few hours and crash at an airbnb in a very small town called Worthington.

The young guy who lives there lets me into his apartment then walks across the street to his gf's place. When I ask him for the keys, he says "just leave the doors open, no one locks their doors 'round here." Okay.

I get a text from him later asking if I want to grab a beer with his friends. I decline, my mana is depleted. I don't do anything but sleep in that town. The next day, driving through beautiful endless country, I pass by a giant bull's head on my left. It sticks in my mind, a few miles later, I turn around. To get to the bull's head, I have to drive around several fields on a dirt road. When I approach, I see that there are more sculptures.

There's a middle aged man sitting inside a shed wearing psychedelic shades and a youthful smile. He's the sculptor, this is his park. I pay a small fee and walk along the path through his art. There are poems he's written on signposts accompanying many of his pieces. Feels like I slipped into a dream. 

Back at the entrance, I sit in the shed and chat with the sculptor. He tells me about himself and his work, I share a little about my trip, especially what happened in Minneapolis. He goes to his car and grabs some beer for us.

Some gophers are hanging out in front of the entrance, he tosses them chocolate kisses. They hold onto them with both paws and nibble. I run to my car and see if gophers like gummi bears. They do.  A couple from Alabama pull up, Wayne puts his psychedelic shades back on and greets them, showing them the path. "I love meeting people from all around." We talk about different types of people, prejudices and changing times, science and art. He doesn't believe in free will, we're just DNA and environment, our personality just an aggregation of people we've met, ideas we've read or heard. "Why do you create these sculptures?" I ask. He smiles. We talk for a bit more. He gifts me two books of poetry he wrote. I give him a book I haven't finished yet, it reminds me of his work. 

"Are you heading to Sturgis?" He asks.

"What's Sturgis?"

"Well, the population of South Dakota is not that large. Most of us live on the eastern side. You're heading west, that's where I'm from. Not too many people live there." "Okay." "Once a year though, there's a motorcycle rally in western South Dakota, at a place called Sturgess. 500,000 bikers are heading there this week. You'll see them."

"Ah that's why I've been seeing those bikers. Thanks for the heads up!"

He probably added an extra zero there. 500,000 is a lot of bikers. The total population of South Dakota is 840,000 (2012). As I continue west, the number of bikers surrounding my car continues to increase until I'm being escorted. I pull over at the next gas station and look it up. Sturgis Motorcycle Rally 2013 registered attendance was 466,000. Not counting unregistered bikers. They're all headed where I'm going, the Black Hills.

I've seen Pee-Wee Herman's Big Adventure many times so I'm not concerned. Not concerned at all.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 54: Bastards of Young

Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Date: Saturday July 23rd, 2014 Mini Apple Part 1 Mini Apple Part 2 The train stalls halfway into downtown. Outside, I can see the bike trail that I rode on earlier. It'd be faster to pry open the doors and walk into town but I guess that's not allowed. I really have to pee.

Chris tells me more about life in NY. As a side gig, he runs an airbnb in Brooklyn he renovated with a partner (aka the money). When they first bought the place five years ago, they tried to make it into an art gallery / music venue but it sputtered out. It's doing much better as an airbnb. I tell him about my adventures in Fort Greene, he says it used to be way worse when they first got there, it's really gentrified now. That word doesn't mean what I used to think it meant anymore.

The train finally starts up and deposits us a few blocks away from the venue. I can't wait, too many pop and rums. As we walk past a building under construction, I duck into an abandoned doorway, telling Chris I'll catch up. I'm sorry Minneapolis. 20 seconds later, I walk out and see Chris heading back towards me. He's not on his own. Two police officers are behind him, one short white cop and one large black cop. The white cop has Chris's arm wrenched behind him and is pushing him directly towards me. The black cop is pushing the crowd out of the way. They head right for me. I put my hands up and walk towards them, but they push right through me. The black cop takes out a key and opens the door in the alcove I was just at. The white cop pushes Chris inside, yelling "Stop resisting or I'm going to break your arm." Chris is repeating "I'm not resisting, I'm not resisting." I make eye contact with him, he is scared and confused. "Officer, he's my friend. It wasn't him! It's me, he didn't do anything. It was me!" I follow the police officers and try to explain that I'm the filthy tourist, it was me. The black cop bars my way, he fills up the doorway. "GET OUT OF HERE!" He growls in my face. "LEAVE NOW!"  "Hey don't leave!" I hear Chris yell as the white cop shoves him behind another door inside. The black cop shuts the door in my face and locks it behind him. I bang on the door, I hear Chris yelling something and then silence.

I pull out my phone to call Brian, it's at 1% battery life and dies as soon as it rings. The block is crowded, party kids everywhere. I ask everyone I see for their phone. They ignore me, shaking their heads at the strange man panicking in a corner that smells of piss and rum. I calm myself and lower my tone. Three young guys finally stop and hear me out. One of them runs to get the police officer down the street, the other guy who is brown like Chris lets me borrow his phone. I call 911 and start using words like excessive force and profiling. I get transferred three times and then the line goes dead. The police officer shows up and I tell him what happened. I thank the guys who helped me, they walk away. The police officer gets on his radio for a bit and then looks at me. "Do you know what your friend did?" "No officer, I was behind him, I just saw him get dragged away behind locked doors, yelling." "Well, he was causing a disturbance and resisting arrest." "What? He didn't do anything. It was." I stop myself before I say anymore, the cop looks angry. "We don't want that kind of filth here. Get out of here. They're going to release him down by the ramp at the end of the block. Go wait there."

I walk down and don't see a station or anything, just a ramp down into a parking garage. I start knocking on doors and yelling Chris's name, all the windows are blacked out. There's no one here. After twenty minutes, I see one of the locked doors open and the cop who armlocked Chris walks out. He is sweaty and flustered. "Officer." I start.

"What are you doing here? GET OUT OF HERE! GO TO THE TOP OF THE RAMP!" He yells at me, walking towards me aggressively.

I put my hands up submissively and walk back. "I was told my friend was here."  "We'll release him when we're finished. GET OUT OF HERE. LEAVE NOW."  He's in my face now, his face taut with hate. He's young, younger than me. Shorter than me. 

"LEAVE NOW OR YOU'LL BE ARRESTED TOO!" He yells at me like I'm a dog. "WALK THAT WAY!"

I grew up in LA and OC but I'm not black or brown. I've been arrested and jailed before but this feels different. For the first real time on this road trip, I'm scared for my safety. 

I don't know what happened. Did Chris try to save me and stall as the cops headed my way? Does he have a record or a history here? Did he talk too much? What the fuck. In any case, I'm the filthy tourist who's been pissing in the street all weekend. I'm also wearing the man's underwear and purple socks. The adrenaline and alcohol and the stupidity of privilege all kick in. "Officer, it wasn't him, I was the one. I'm from out of town, I'm really sorry, I had too much to drink. You got the wrong guy. Can you let me see my friend? Here's my id, can you take me to see him?" The officer does me a favor. "I DON'T CARE. GET OUT OF HERE. I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE. LEAVE NOW." 

But I don't have anywhere to go. Chris and this police officer are the only two people I know here.  "I'M NOT GOING TO SAY IT AGAIN. LEAVE NOW!"

One of his hands is on his gun, the other one pointing down the direction he wants me to go.

I walk away and circle the blocks a few times. I find another cop in a car, but he doesn't have much to add except telling me to wait. I'm worried my friend is getting his ass kicked. "We don't do that here. He's fine. Just wait." I ask him if I can use his phone charger, he says no.

After an hour of failing to persuade bartenders and waitresses to let me use their phone charger, I hail down a cab. Fuck it. I'll just go back and get my spare phone battery and return. I tell the black cabbie my sob story on the way, he's sympathetic but not surprised. He lets me borrow his charger.

After a minute, my phone lights up with a picture text from Chris.

The photo is accompanied by an address and a hashtag. #GetHereBro The cabbie drops me off at the club, Chris comes out to get me. His face is fine, but his jacket is turned inside out. "Yeah man, they fucked up my clothes and my arm hurts. I got their badge numbers man, I'll get them. The funny thing is, I didn't even pee. I was going to after I saw you go, but I didn't. They thought I did." It's been more than 2 hours since I last saw him. I'm sober now. We go back inside, he's perched behind the DJ booth again. Fucking Chris. This time, I don't refuse the drinks that comes our way and I get a few rounds myself. #ShotsShotsShots.

On the train ride back, we're sitting across from two friendly black girls. Chris tries to get them to come home with us, they get off before we do. Back at the apartment, I head back down to my car to get my whiskey. When I get to my car, I realize I left the apt keys and my phone upstairs. I buzz the gate but it goes straight to Brian's voicemail. I scream out Chris's name for a while and give up when the neighbors start screaming back.  

Luckily I have a spare car key in my wallet. I'm really hungry, I find some smoked fish jerky from Michigan under my car seat.

I eat a quarter of it before discovering fish jerky does not keep well inside a warm car. I really want to brush my teeth and take my contacts out but all my shit is upstairs. I give up and pass out on my car bed. The next morning, I'm woken up by a knock on the window. It's Chris.

"Ah man, I'm so sorry! I totally passed out inside!"  "Haha I figured. Don't worry about it man. One of those nights." Back inside, I take a shower then pack up my things.

"You sure you don't want to stay man? Didn't you want to see that show? You can stay for free at our other place dude. I feel bad."

"Thanks Chris. I want to but I gotta get moving man. Places to go! Thanks again, it's been fun." Before I leave, he shows me the one thing that bothered him most about the night.

It's going to be tricky for him to continue ruling the town while he's banished. Sorry bro.

As for me, I'm just a filthy tourist who learned not to pee in the streets ever again. Thank you Minneapolis.

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 53: World Class Fad

Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Date: Friday July 22nd, 2014 Mini Apple Part 1

Brian brings out a handle of captain and some pop. After a few rounds, Chris looks at his watch. "Guys 3 minutes. Go Cups." Brian fills up three Green Bay Packers plastic tumblers. "Let's go!" We run downstairs, they share a parking lot with the city metro. The last train pulls in just as we get there. #Chug. Ugh, brain freeze. They stash the cups behind the train bench, not their first time.

The ride into downtown takes 25 minutes, in that space, Brian is greeted by a young couple on fixies, a family friend, and a group of co-workers returning from a party. "Yeah, this is a small town man. Everyone knows Brian here. I'm going to run him for mayor in ten years." I believe him.

"Where we meeting the soccer team?"

"Ah they're a bunch of pussies. They have a game after tomorrow so they can't come out."

"But that's in two days?"

"Yeah, they say the practice day before the game day is tougher, they train harder during practice. They're staying in." 

I'm not into fußball nor am I a latina fangirl, I'm not too disappointed. My wallet and liver are also relieved. I didn't really believe Chris earlier, he's a talker.  

Downtown reminds me of every metro party scene except there are a lot more police officers and more black kids than I'm used to. We head for one club, Chris starts greeting everyone who works there but I'm not sure he knows them. Brian and I mill about while Chris chats up the bouncer. I don't have any cash on me so I start looking around for an ATM. I have to pee real bad. I see some dumpsters in an alley across the street. 

"Hey dude, there's bathrooms inside." Chris says after me. Sorry Minneapolis.

When I get back, Chris introduces me to the door staff like they're all old friends. They seem annoyed but they're helpless before his energy, we all walk in. Drinks on the house. "I like to hang out in the DJ booth" says Chris from New York. We hang out in the DJ booth. Chris is constantly bringing drinks into the booth for the talent and the girls who rotate in and out. Brian downs a few more shots and hits the dance floor. I stagger in and about. I hit it off with a cute wallflower. "Are you straight edge?" I ask looking at the mark on her hands. "No, I'm 19." "Oh."

The clubs empties out as the lights come on. The future mayor of Minneapolis is still up on the pole.

Chris is chatting up the talent, wheeling and dealing. The remaining black and vietnamese party kids loiter around until we're all escorted out. We walk down the street to get some pizza at the only joint still open. It's packed. "Try this pizza man."

It's really good.

"The fuck, is that a mexican pizza?"

"Haha yeah man, the best thing here. I'm not just saying that cuz I'm mexican."

Chris orders a few more slices and we eat and watch the drunk kids getting louder and louder. There is a big white girl in netting standing in front of our table, waiting for someone to talk to her. Brian returns from the bathroom. 

"Hey guys, I think someone jacked my phone." We look around everywhere. It's gone. Chris calls the iphone, someone picks up then hangs up right away. He looks up some app and finds the location. 

"Dude, that fucker is over in [some neighborhood] already. He was fast."

"Let's go get him!" Brian slurs.

"Don't be stupid, you have insurance on your phone." 

Two girls bickering start swinging, cops flood in. We leave and get back on the train. The Go Packers cups are still there, this is Minneapolis. Back at the apartment, while Brian is quietly vomiting his guts out, Chris tells me about what it was like when he first got to New York. It was right after 9/11. Night life was somber and ripe for change. He tells me about working under promoters who "invented bottle service." He talks about creating that space where every other baller in the room wonders "How much more do I have to pay to sit there?" Total customer experience. This was ten years ago, now he's trying to hustle for the tech money so he can go big, own a hotel one day. I can't tell between his bravado and bullshit but his ambition is true. I believe him. I'm also still drunk. 

The next day, I bike into the city and spend the day at the central library. It's an amazing place, they have a great collection. There are also a lot of police officers patrolling the library. 

I bike back to the apartment on a great trail, it's dark by the time I get back. I have to do laundry, I'm wearing the only clothes I have left. Chris is hanging out, watching some EDM music videos. "Man, I can't believe Brian made it to work this morning. The guy only had like 2 hours of sleep." "Haha yeah Brian is a beast. He's gone camping today with this girl who lives upstairs, he won't be back 'til Sunday. How long you staying man?" "I was going to leave tomorrow but I'm not sure. There's a Jenny Lewis show on Sunday I might stick around for." "Who? Well I was going to say, you don't have to pay, you can crash at our other place if you want after tomorrow." "Ah thanks I'll think about it."

"Hey, I'm meeting this girl tonight in downtown. Want to go? You said you're into poetry right? She has the biggest poetry youtube channel, you should meet her." "Uh, man I dunno. I'm pretty beat from yesterday and the ride today. I might just take it easy. I don't have any clean clothes either, my laundry is still in the wash." "What do you need?" "Shit, I don't even have underwear or socks." Chris fishes around their closet and tosses me some undergarments. "Come on. Let's go. You should meet her." "Shit man." #WhatWouldWesterbergDo? "Alright, let me take a shower first."

(to be continued)

[talesfromtheshelf]

Day 52: Left of the Dial

Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Date: Thursday July 21st, 2014

I hadn't stayed at a youth hostel yet on this trip and decided to check into one at Minneapolis. It'd be cool to meet some fellow travelers. Loneliness on the road is strange. Long stretches of being alone is fine, enjoyable even. After some company though, it's sad to say goodbye and sadder still the hours of solitude after. It takes some time to adjust being happy solo again.

The hostel is a big house across from an art college and museum. No one picks up the phone so I bang on their door, nothing. I call a few more times, leave a message and linger around the house, waiting for someone to come out. Still nothing. It's the right address and I can see the bunk beds upstairs. Wtf hostel? It's hot and I really have to pee.

After a hour, I give up and head downtown for some food. Wikitravel.org tells me vietnamese food is big in Minneapolis. I get some broken rice and pho broth, it's okay. I check my phone, none of my couch surfing requests are picked up. I try Airbnb but since it's so last minute, my requests are rejected. I already splurged for a hotel back in Green Bay, I don't want to spend money on a sterile room here. Argh. The weather is muggy and my annoyance and entitlement are at an all time high. How dare this city not welcome me!

My phone chirps and I'm relieved, there's a cheap airbnb room right outside the city I can crash at. The host is a young guy, he's working late though. He connects me with his friend Chris who can get me in. As I'm driving, I get a text:

"Hey Steve totally random question for you man. Do you play tennis by chance?" "Lol sure. It's been a while I don't have a racket though." "I have an extra racket for you. Do you need shoes?" "I have shoes." "Haha #ofcourse." "FYI I might launch balls over the fence. Multiple times." "#Noworriesman" "#sorrynotsorry" "Haha I've seen that one before #Toomanytimes."

Chris meets me in the parking lot, he's in tennis whites and wearing sunglasses. He's friendly and helps me with my bags and waits while I change. "Hey so are we playing with some girls? I don't have any tennis gear, just hiking clothes." "Nah man, just some old guys. There might be girls on the other courts though." "Oh good, I will still be able to embarrass myself then." He tells me to follow his car, we leave the city. It's starting to get dark, I have no idea where he's taking me. After half an hour we arrive at a house in some suburbs. I wait in the car until Chris comes back out to get me, they're still waiting on the fourth. I join a family finishing dinner on their deck out back. It's a middle aged couple, their two daughters, and another older guy. One of the girls offers me some salad she made. It's really good, I'd been craving fresh greens. I ask Chris who these people are, they're childhood friends of his. "I grew up with their son, he's my buddy. His dad's my buddy too, we're playing tennis with him and his friend." He points to the old kinda surly guy sitting at the corner. 

The fourth player shows up, we drive to the local park and play some doubles. It's been years since I've played but my shots are going in. I'm teamed up with the dad, he's funny, talks a lot of trash and has a good return. We play a set, lots of deuces, the teams are evenly matched. The mosquitoes win in the end, we call it quits halfway through the second set.

Back at the house, the mom offers us "pop." We sit around the table drinking pop. Her daughters makes some popcorn. The mom asks if I like sweets. I do. She brings out a tupperware box and offers me one of the treats inside. It's very sweet and very good. "What is this? This is amazing!" "Well we call them bars here, but they're like cookies." "What's in it?" "Oh let's see. Toffee, coconut, dark chocolate, white chocolate, almonds, caramel, condensed milk, pecans, walnuts, chocolate chips, vanilla, flour. Oh and butter, lots of butter." "It's really good. /stuffs another one into mouth. Oh man."

I use their bathroom and marvel at the giant hot tub they have built into the wooden floor inside. There's also an audio system installed into the wall right above the toilet paper, with a tape deck. The mom takes me to the den after to show me vacation photos from Duluth, Minnesota on her giant apple computer screen. "You should go there next," She says. The daughter rolls her eyes. "Mom, let him make his own travel plans!" 

Quality baked goods, beautiful daughters and good sound in the bath. I kinda want to stay here forever.

I thank them for their hospitality and leave with a few more bars stuffed in my cheeks.

I get to the airbnb apartment first and take a shower. Chris shows up later after picking up Brian from work. Brian's a lanky white guy, manages a pharmacy. He's into books and kinda dorky looking, reminds me of myself. Both Chris and Brian are my age. Chris grew up in Minneapolis but lives in Manhattan now. He's visiting for the summer, working on some business deals. I'm not sure what he does exactly. He used to be in hospitality, then was a promoter and now is in tech, he says. Chris has big ambitions, he wants to own a piece of the island someday.

"So the Manchester team's in town, my friend asked me to show them around. Do you want to come out with us?" Chris asks after some beers.

"What? Manchester? As in soccer?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna have to set up some bottle service, visit some clubs downtown. Wanna go?" My feet hurt from tennis (hiking shoes are not optimal for the court) and getting rounds with a soccer team is not in my budget, but #WhatWouldWesterbergDo? 

"Gimme a second, let me change my shirt."

(to be continued)