End

Remind me never to ride Greyhound again. My 40 hour bus ride turned into a 48 hour one. Leaving the station in Dallas the suspension broke. After returning for a new bus and departing Dallas again, the rear view mirror came unhinged and the door wouldn't latch. The passengers were mutinous at this point. After a mechanic fixed the bus up we started up and then lost all the pressure in our tires. After spending several hours in the Fort Worth terminal a new bus was provided. Later that night, the bus broke down because the computer decided to shut it off. Why the computer has power over the running capacity of the bus, I don't know. 

Thought only to exist in the Drake and Josh/iCarly universe of Nickelodeon, I spotted a Groovy Smoothie in El Paso, Texas. 

On my second bus a lady was worried that I was traveling all alone. I asked how old she thought I was. 14

I arrived in Tucson at about two in the Afternoon. I gathered my giddy energy and walked up the road. That first day I found an orange tree outside an apartment complex which I promptly climbed and snatched a few orange treasures. I spent that first night in the desert a little off the road. I could see more stars than I'd ever seen. Standing in the dark cold air, I let loose a few Rocky air punches to psych myself up. Then I preformed some dance sequence that only a mother could love. The desert is very cold at night.

I never thought much about food or hunger. A bag of apples and the oranges I picked lasted me almost two days. I never thought about running out of money either.

I did a lot of walking after that. It was never my plan to stay in Tucson and work, but to hit the road in search of adventure and to live leanly. I walked west out of town and through Tucson Mountain Park. Cacti were everywhere. Some were 30-40 feet tall. There was one moment where I looked back at the mountains I had just crossed as a pink sunrise crept through the crags of the peaks. Everything was very still and quiet. The only animals I heard were the local suburban dogs back in town. 

I tried hitchhiking out of town towards Southern California. I had never hitchhiked before, so this was a novel experience. I got a few rides initially, one from a worried mother and few more from some locals in Painted Rock, AZ. I think that's the name of the town. The hitchhiking pool then went dry and died into everlasting drought. I tried for hours and could not get anywhere. Drivers gawked at me through their car windows like at some specimen in a zoo. I was banking on my boyish charm to convince some drivers of my youthful innocence, but nothing availed. May be they thought, "what's that kid doing on the side of road? He's probably a serial killer, step on it." At one point a cop passed me merging onto the on ramp. I thought for sure he would wheel around, but I didn't stick around to find out. It was all very disheartening. I decided to make my way back to Tucson. This involved more walking. 

I observed on the bus ride west, that from the interstate, all towns in America are fundamentally the same. Same restaurants, billboards, suburbs, city skylines, concrete landscape, roadside trash. The same incessant ugliness. Look at all we give up! Is it all even worth it? Everything that is beautiful is being destroyed. I can't stand, I rage, I despair, I spit, gnash teeth. I'm mad that I can't see the entire starscape available to me at night because of light pollution. I hate that I can't drink from the streams and rivers without worrying about the cocktail of carcinogenic chemicals and human waste swirling in its depths. I hate that there's no clean air to breathe. I'm sad that there are millions of species I'll never see because we've exterminated them. And the list goes on and on. Oh and I rant. This is what I realized about hitchhiking: most of your day will be on the side of the interstate and at fast food restaurants off the exit ramp because there's nothing else to eat. The first disappointment.

The second disappointment: generosity is scant. It seems the most generous people I met were those who had the least. More stuff for some reason creates a false sense of scarcity and security and we fear each other for it. In the present age of identification with wealth and commodification of human relationships, my naive hopes for memorable connections were as fleeting as the desert wind.

One object of traveling was to be closer with nature and learn from it. Experience has led me to believe that maybe traveling isn't the best way to go about that goal. It might be better to devote oneself to a local conclave of wilderness, tucked in the heart of suburbia; frequent it, familiarize with it. For me this is a patch of woods at the entrance of my neighborhood.

Back in Tucson I contemplated my options. I could stay in town and find work; be homeless until I had enough for an apartment. I could spend all of my energy struggling across the interstate. Or, I could humbly accept defeat and face the humiliation of returning home. Before I made any decisions, I had to reexamine my motives. Why was I traveling?

I was traveling to test myself. Traveling, or at least the kind I'm doing, isn't very fun, it's about pushing limits, learning about yourself. It's very hard. I based my travel style on the generosity of others, the avenue of hitchhiking, and the apparent abundance I read about in like travel accounts. Novelty and natural beauty inspired me to travel. Tragically, I rarely found the support or inspiration I had hoped for.

I will throw my ego to the wolves and return home. After talking with an ex-police officer about the local levels of crime and crazies and the very real possibility that I could be killed over a nice sleeping bag, I decided to return home. It's the wisest and safest decision I feel I can make right now. It just became too difficult and dangerous to carry on. It's heartbreaking really. 

So that's where the chapter closes. I'm typing this from the bus home on my iPod. Tucson may be wasn't the best city to start something like this. Or, winter wasn't the best season. Or, I should have had a plan B. Or I was too inexperienced, naive, foolish. Or all of these things are true. 

From the morbidity of my dictation it might sound like I will soon go comatose and die. But I assure you, these unfortunate and disparaging events have in no way been a mistake or defeat. I've learned valuable lessons and reap a better understanding. I will no doubt venture future escapades from the daily drudge; incorporating experience into a more calculated planning. I appreciate all who gave support, all who perspired excitedly while reading blog posts (probably just me), and all who I might be disappointing.  

I will be going back to live with my parents. I'm not embarrassed by this. I really missed them and my brothers. I'll be glad to be home for my mom's cooking and the new season of American Idol.

I still don't regret dropping college. Possibly the best path I've ever taken. I absolutely don't regret setting out on this journey. I miss all the homies I made at college. You guys are the best.

This will probably be my last post. When I do set off again I don't know whether I'll chronicle it or not.