Sitting Under Hawaiian Pine Tree

Bellows Park

I spent the weekend at Bellows Beach Park. When I arrived, I was
surprised to find it deserted. The place was too beautiful to be
vacated. It was a bit unusual for Hawaii; it was filled with pine
trees. The park was adjacent to the Bellows military base. Maybe that
had something to do with why nobody was there. I made myself right at
home. I sat under a tree and watched the three to four-foot waves
brake off shore. I was also sitting in what looked to be wildflowers
as I watched a butterfly flutter about, carefully avoiding the
bumblebees that were bouncing around the blue, yellow, and purple
blossoms. I probably sat for an hour, the warm sun penetrating my
bones. Totally absorbed in the scene, I couldn't keep from asking
myself, "Do I fit in? Am I an integral part of this landscape, or just
a `fly on the canvas,' so to speak?"

Bob was the first to enter the park after me. He had come to meet a
friend. We talked for a while, and then when his friend showed up, the
two of them walked down to the far end of the beach. I guessed they
were lovers because they acted the part. When I realized Bob was gay I
was surprised by my response. I didn't experience any "wow vibes,"
negative or positive. That was a first for me.

Whoopee—Unemployment Money

Honolulu

When I got to the hostel, they told me I could get a bed if I came
back at four--check in time. I did what they told me, but when I
returned all the beds were taken (just another misunderstanding I
guess). I didn't have any other choice except to ask John if I could
stay at his place again. He surprised me when, over the phone, he
seemed happy to help me out. I arrived around 7 p.m. (I didn't want to
arrive too early, so I spent the rest of the afternoon admiring the
High School art exhibit at the Ala Moana shopping center). As Bev
greeted me at the door, I handed her the pizza and the six beers that
I had brought with me. John wasn't home, but by the time I took a
shower and drank my first beer, he showed up. Everybody had a good time.

The next day, after I went to unemployment (all they did was take my
list of job contacts and say good-bye), I returned to John's to pick
up my mail before heading out of the city. The good news was that I
finally received my first two unemployment checks. The bad news was
that CMU challenged my unemployment eligibility. I would not receive
another check until some board ruled on the challenge. I also got a
letter from Carol Sue. She had really missed me. The lump in my throat
that I got from reading her letter was still there. Oh well, at least
I had plenty of money to get me through until my food stamps kicked
in. I deposited one of the checks in a Honolulu bank savings account
and then biked out of town.

Taking Care Of Business

Ala Moana Evening Beach


Feb. 14 `73

After arriving in Honolulu in the afternoon, I went over to John's
and picked up my mail from Bev. Unemployment had scheduled a Wednesday
appointment for me. I was going to apply for food stamps on Tuesday,
so that meant I had to stay in the city for another day. I went to the
Police Station to get my camping permit. Punaluu, I remembered from
bicycling around the island, had a nice beach park, so I picked up a
two-week permit (two seven day permits) for that park. I hoped for
good weather. After that I went back down to the Ala Moana beach and
hung out until dark and then found a place to crash ( I hid my bike at
the same time).

I was up at first light. It was first come-first serve at the food
stamp office. I was told to get there early, but I still had to wait
five hours before I got through the process (interview, forms, wait).
Finally, the attendant told me that in a couple of weeks I would
receive $40 in food stamps. After that ordeal I went to the youth
hostel because I needed a shower and my clothes washed. I still had
one more piece of business to attend to, my unemployment interview in
the morning.

Eddy, Rich, And Other Keaau Beach Anomalies

Feb. 12 ‘73

It's been a good two days; no hassles and I met lots of people.
I especially got close to the loud and boisterous Eddy who, with his
bearded friend Rich, I met at Keaau. I had seen them before on the
highway, but had never talked with them. Rich had a communication
problem. Whenever he opened his mouth, sarcasm spilled out. Eddy told
me he was born that way. Eddy, like me, always carried reading
material around with him. He only carried one book, though. It was
the complete works of William Shakespeare. It was so big and heavy it
wouldn't fit into his backpack. He kept it wrapped in a garbage bag
and held it in his free arm. He cut a unique image, long blond hair
hanging to his butt, clutching a huge book, hitchhiking down the
highway. One night we got drunk together. After that, the boys from
Olympia made me a lifelong brother. I never knew what those guys were
going to do or say. They were a laugh a minute.

Also, I finally figured out how to camp legally in Hawaii. You
had to get a “permission slip" at the Honolulu courthouse. With a
permit, the park personnel wouldn’t hassle you. As soon as I drank my
coffee and packed my gear, I was off to the city to get my camp permit.

I want to mention, as an aside at least, that living on the beach has
made me more aware of the impact that empathy has on me. If people
around me are happy, I am happy. If people around me are not happy, I
feel their anxieties and discontent. This is not new. I have been
aware of my ability to empathize for quite some time. What bothers me
now is that I am not sure if I can be happy around people who are not
happy also. In other words, I don't know if my happiness depends on
the happiness of others or not. Maybe it does, and if that is the
case, I am definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time! In Hawaii,
I, and other beach transients like me, are barely tolerated. If I could
turn into money all the sneers, rude looks, and harassment e.g., the gas station lady,
I would already be a rich man! It seems I have so much to look forward too.

Foiled By The Weather

Arrow Points Out Kaena Point


Keaau Beach Park

With a change in the weather my short cut around Kaena Point had turned into
a long grueling hike. The dirt road that I was following turned into unavoidable
pools of mud and water, and, while crossing submerged rocks, I fell hands
down into a pile of mud; even worse, upon making it to the other side
of the Point, the wind and rain got so bad that I had to turn around
and head back. It was 6 p.m. before I was able to escape the worst of the
weather. My first attempt at putting up my tent failed, but, on solid ground,
next to an unofficial garbage dump, I managed to stabilize my tent and
climb inside. That night I slept okay, but the atmosphere was lacking.

In the morning, on the way back to Keaau, I had another flat tire.
My bike was in terrible shape, so I had to give it gasoline bath
and a lube job. Hawaii was hard on bicycles. The good news was that
Keaau Beach Park was going to stay open. I guessed the Park Service
got too many closing complaints from the locals. They had to leave the park open
at least for the weekend. One thing about the Hawaiians, they sure did enjoy
their weekend campouts.

Rustic Hawaiian Camping With Eric

On a deserted stretch of beach

Eric was so full of innocence, and excited. That was the up side; the
down side was that after talking to him, I wanted to go home and be
with my friends and with Carol Sue. He made me feel old, too old. I
felt trapped and nauseous. What the hell had I come to Hawaii for anyway?

When it came time to leave Keaau beach, I road my bicycle while Eric
hitchhiked. We agreed to meet again where the big cave entered the
mountain up the highway. Getting to the beach from there would be
doable, but still hard. From there, we followed a sand path through a
forest of brier bushes (Kiavi) until we came to a very narrow stretch
of beach where the tide forced us to camp with our backs against brier
bushes, which would have been okay were it not for the huge spiders
that made their home among the briers—plus the mosquitoes. After one
night of that, we both went back to Keaau. Compared to camping in that
critter-infested sand trap, camping at Keaau was like camping on the
putting green of a golf course. Avoiding the park service guys was a
problem, but not an insurmountable one.

Pushing my bike back out through the Kiavi forest, a thorn punctured
my tire. Eric and I walked the three miles back to Keaau. I spent the
rest of the morning in a Makaha gas station fixing my bike. The
gas station lady would have pissed on you if you were dying of thirst,
but that's all the compassion you could expect out her. Eric decided
to follow the waves, and of course, they were on the other side of the
island. After I fixed my tire I also planned to split to the north
side of the island too, only I planned on taking the short cut while
Eric stayed with the highway. Once I reached Kaena Point, I got off my
bike and started walking.

Keaau Beach Happiness

After Drinking Beer With Eric

Makaha and Keaau Beach Park were the best. They were not trafficked
with people or automobiles. The large costal mountains created a dry
pocket of weather that, compared to the rest of the island, cut the
rainfall in half. Living at Keaau, and running back and forth to
Makaha for food and drink was perfect for me. Everything was great,
and that's when word came down that the Park Service was closing down
the park (actually, many parks). No explanation was given, but rumor
had it that it was being done to curtail the muggings, which were a
continual occurrence on the beach. Another rumor had it that there
were so many people living on the beach that the authorities wanted to
get everybody in one spot, a kind of forced census count. Yet another
rumor had it that the Park Service was going to spray for weeds, which
(in hindsight) was just as likely to be true.

I was prepared to leave. I was going back to Kaena Point and camp
along that jungle stretch of beach. That would solve the
closed park problem, but it also would create problems like getting
fresh water, too much sand, and a whole host of other inconveniences.
I was packed and ready to go when I met Eric. He was an
eighteen-year-old kid from California who had come to Hawaii to ride
the "big wave." He didn't even know the park was closing. After I
helped him drink his beer, he asked if he could come with me. I said,
"Sure," but I really wasn't sure.

The Many Faces Of Happiness

Fools rush in, so here I am
Very glad to be unhappy
I can't win, but here I am
More than glad to be unhappy

Peace of mind,
where's the happiness we should be havin'?
We can't find any answers in the good times we had.



Keaau Beach, Hawaii
Feb. 6 `73

For the better part of the past week, I had worried about where I would
sleep, or if I was going to get rained on. Not last night! I had a
warm place to sleep, and I was camped at the end of the road, so I
didn't have to worry too much about getting busted. It was more a
daytime thing with the pigs anyway. After dark they left you alone. I
had a beautiful view of the ocean surf breaking in front of me and
nothing but clear sky above me. After all of my "creaturely needs"
were fulfilled, and the big orange sun sank into the ocean, I sat back
and watched as the sky filled with twinkling stars. It couldn't have
been better.

God, was that an enjoyable evening. I felt extremely happy, but in
retrospect, last night's happiness was a different kind of happiness
than the happiness I had felt when I was with Carol Sue. That
happiness was indescribable. It was also different from the happiness
I had felt when I coasted my bicycle down Ten Sleep Canyon. That was a
"blissed out happiness." It was even different from the happiness that
I had felt when I dropped acid on a religious quest in the Deadstream
Swamp.

Last night's happiness was the closest "I" could get to being happy.
It was a happiness concentrated in my own ego. It was the same kind of
happiness that I had felt when on a summer night four years ago I had
found myself overlooking the bright lights of San Diego. It was also
the same kind of happiness that filled me to bursting when, in
Seattle, under that Monorail train, I had just escaped what I felt was
to be certain death. On those occasions, "I" was happy, very, very happy.
When desires become satisfied, when security, appetite, and multiple
addictions become satisfied–-happiness overwhelms. That kind of
happiness was certainly welcome, but at best (unfortunately), that
kind of happiness occurred infrequently and was soon gone.

Pretend Rain Only In My Mind

AND WHEN THE NIGHT IS CLOUDY
THERE IS STILL A LIGHT THAT SHINES ON ME
SHINE UNTIL TOMORROW LET IT BE



Wahiawa, Hawaii

Things couldn't have been worse. At least, that's what I thought. I
hadn't gone very far before I managed to take a wrong turn. I didn't
notice I was on the wrong highway until I had peddled half way up a
mountain. I guess when the traffic let up that's all that mattered to
me. On top of the mountain there was a town, or so the sign read, so
I kept on going. I didn't find a town. I found another military base,
the Wahiawa Air Force Base. I pulled off in a field and crashed behind
abandoned Delmonte storage bins. I was tired and it was getting too
dark to bicycle anyway.

When I went to sleep everything was fine. Halfway through the evening,
though, the rains came. I did not have adequate shelter, and I didn't
want to put up my tent in the dark and in the rain, so I pulled my
sleeping bag over my head and pretended it wasn't raining. That worked
for a while, and then, in the morning twilight, my despicable
condition was revealed. My head lay in three inches of water. My
sleeping bag was soaked. I was freezing, and it was still raining. I
backtracked down the mountain. I didn't stop shivering until I found a
café and drank five cups of hot coffee.

It was early afternoon before I finally reached Keaau. I set up my
tent and laid my stuff out to dry. It was amazing how fast the warm
sunshine could bring a person back "from the dead." Feeling better, I
went into town and bought food and quart of beer. I also bought a
transistor radio. Outside the store, after I put the batteries in the
radio, there was no sound. I took the radio back, and the lady behind
the counter exchanged it for another one. She made the mistake of
giving me a radio that cost $20 instead of replacing the $8.50 one
that I had bought. I didn't say anything. I was just happy to see a
little luck come my way for a change.

Sitting at the picnic table next to my tent with my new radio playing
really good progressive rock music (Spirit, Quicksilver, Doors,
Beatles etc.), I was feeling happy, and it felt good. I stuffed myself
with baloney sandwiches and swilled down the beer. After a desert of
cookies, topped off with two cigarettes and the rest of the beer, I
was overflowing in happiness.

Hawaii More Job Hunting

Honolulu



Jan. '73

In Honolulu, I went back to the city beach to find a place to crash. I had
to be careful; I didn't want to get busted. I went back to the same
place I had been before. The next day, my bad luck at job hunting
replayed itself. By the end of the day, as far as I was concerned,
Hawaii had lost its luster. Actually, I never recovered from the way I
was treated back at the university. Discrimination (for those who got
discriminated against) was never fun. I was done in, and I didn't want
to sleep on the beach again. I didn't like to ask for favors, but I
needed help, so I called up John and asked if I could spend the night
at his place. He said, "Sure, come on over." After a shower, I felt
clean for the first time since arriving in Hawaii. (Swimming in the
ocean left a salt crust on your body. Some of the parks had cold water
showers, but the salt crust was preferable.) I had planned to leave
Honolulu in the morning, but John suggested I apply for a job at his
military base. I thought that was an idea worth checking out.

Getting a job was never easy for me, and this time it was no
different. At the military base, they told me civilians were all hired
from a central location. After getting directions, I spent seven hours
peddling my ass all over Honolulu looking for the Army Civilian Job
Corps (twice I was sent to the wrong place). When my dehydrated body
reached its final destination, the Sergeant behind the glass told me,
in a very condescending voice, that the military had put a freeze on
all civilian hiring. When I headed out, I was angry, and when I found
myself stuck in Friday afternoon traffic I became even angrier. I
almost passed out from breathing the exhaust fumes.

Makaha And Job Hunting

Keaau Beach Park

After a long distance hike around the point, I came to a remote stretch of
highway. I passed some makeshift beach houses, but I didn't see many
people until, after another six or seven miles down the road, I
reached Makaha. It was a small town with a Cornet store (K-Mart-type
store), a nice restaurant, art gallery, and a Dairy Queen-type fast
food place that sold mostly Asian food. I bought a fast food rice dish
and ate it at the picnic table in front of the arcade that was
attached to the place. Just across the two-lane highway was another
nice view of the beach and ocean. Houses were scattered throughout the
area. There was even a subdivision or two. No camping was allowed on
the Makaha beach, so I decided to backtrack the three miles to Keaau
Beach Park.

There were just a few people camping at Keaau Beach. During the course
of the evening, I met a Hawaiian dude who turned me on to a beer and a
joint. That meant a lot to me because it was the first time that
somebody showed me a little friendliness in a long time. He also gave
me some tips on where to look for work. It didn't rain that night and
that was a first.

The next day, I biked back to Honolulu. It was another sixty miles or
so of biking. Once there, I went job-hunting. I visited the
construction sight the dude on the beach had told me about, but I had
no luck there. I then went to the University of Hawaii. I was
surprised to find that at the University only locals (meaning
Hawaiians or Asians) were hired for the custodian jobs; at least that
was what the girl who took my application told me. Before I finished
job-hunting, I even tried to ship out as a merchant marine on a boat
heading to Australia. When that didn't happen either, I decided to
call it a day.

Bicycling Oahu's North Shore

Keana Point

Sunset Beach


Leeward Side Of Island

At Sunset beach I found a lot of hippie types. If you were a surfer
you hung out at Sunset. I was told the big waves hadn't arrived yet.
They looked plenty big to me, though. I would have stayed at Sunset
longer, except it was getting dark, and I needed to find a place to
camp. There were lots of "transients" all over the north shore of the
island. I spent the night dodging the beach police in order to sleep on a wet
beach not far from Sunset.

My bicycle ride around Oahu was pleasant, but the ride around Kaena
Point was the best. The point was the most westerly part of the
island, and there were no main roads. Coming from the north you had to
travel through an unpopulated part of the island on a secondary road
just to get to the gravel road that took you around the point. The
gravel road (err trail) followed the coast for about nine miles. The
road was totally washed out in a couple of spots. Avoiding rocks and
potholes was impossible. I found it easier to walk my bike rather than
ride. The scenery was marvelous, and, by walking, I saved my bike (and
body) from all that wear and tear. By the time the pavement started up
again, I had almost reached a meditative state of mind.

On My Way To Hauula Beach

Somewhere On The Windward Side of Oahu
Jan. 30, '73

Last night was cold and wet. The bathroom, for obvious reasons, was a
bad idea. I ended up sleeping under the picnic table with my tent
canvass thrown over me. Today, however, was more hospitable. The
weather was nice, and although I was still sunburned, the pain didn't
prevent me from bicycling farther around the island. In the
Kailua/Kaneohe Bay part of the island, the part directly across from
Honolulu (lots of military personnel there), the biking was poor. When
I got through that area, though, the biking got better as the traffic
thinned. I spent the night at Hauula Beach. Even though I found people
camping in the park, the Park Service guys still ran off the hippie
types. I guess I haven't figured out the rules yet. I just waited
until dark before I set up my tent.

Oahu became quieter and greener the farther north I biked. I could
have eaten as many coconuts as I wanted, but I couldn't figure out how
to get inside their husks. I stopped and ate some bananas growing
alongside the road instead. You had to take the bad with the good I
guess; it rained a lot, and a lot more at night. I took a break from
biking one afternoon and invited myself into a game of basketball with
some locals. There were three of them shooting on a small court in a
park. It was fun while it lasted.

Slipping Into Depression

Hanauma Bay

I felt like a dark cloud had
just encapsulated me. I began to question my motives for coming to
Hawaii. I wanted to be with Carol Sue. Hawaii couldn't compete with
her. "If I only had the money," I thought, "I would go home right
now." I was sick, and I didn't want to be in Hawaii anymore, let alone
in that damp, smelly cave. My nausea was returning, and I began to
envision the searing pain that puking would cause. Then, the panacea
of panacea's hit, I fell asleep.

My desperation lifted with the morning sun. I was still suffering
though. I was in pain, but the heartache that compounded my pain had
left me. When the beach-goers started showing up, I felt good enough
to try swimming in the bay's aquarium-like waters. After I rented a
swim mask and snorkel from the guy in the booth, I splashed face down
in the ocean, and below I saw the white porous coral. All through the
coral swam yellow, silver, stripped, spotted (you name it, they were
there) fish -- a fantasy swim in a huge aquarium. It was great!

When Bev and John showed up they brought with them a tub of Kentucky
Fried Chicken. Until then, I'd been eating next to nothing. The
chicken was delicious. After a bit, John and I decided to have a go at
swimming the 50 yards or so out to and beyond the protective reef. Pat
stayed on the beach with Bev. He said, "You're both crazy." It was
more of an effort than I anticipated, but it was worth it. Lloyd
Bridges would have been proud of me. I did, however, swallow a lot of
salt water in the process. Time passed quickly, and after John and Bev
left to go back to Honolulu (not before they told me I could use their
address), I headed in the opposite direction.

I'm now sitting on a picnic table with 15 to 20 mph winds hitting me
in the face, and the rain is just beginning to fall. Rather then
attempt "a pup tent night in the wind," there's an outdoor bathroom
waiting to be checked out for possible shelter. Maybe it will make
this evening bearable. I sure hope so, I'm the only person on the
beach and it's almost dark.

Saved By The Rain

Hanauma Bay

Getting Ready To Bike Oahu

Bicycling in Honolulu wasn't that much fun. It had more than its
share of traffic and exhaust fumes. It was hot too, eighty degrees or
more, and, like all cities, it had its "districts." Walking along side
my bike on one of those streets (maybe the Philippine section of
town) I was greeted by a number of street hawkers selling everything
from jewelry to fortune telling. When I passed one lady, I found her
advertising fortune telling with a twist, she said, "Get your future
here. A life changing experience guaranteed." A smiling 12 to
14-year-old girl, dressed in almost nothing, was standing next to her
as she spoke. I think the idea was, for the right price, not only
would you get your fortune told, you could make it come true also.
Farther down the street, I passed an army surplus store. I went inside
and bought an army pup tent – the real McCoy – two sticks for support,
dark green canvass, small, and you slept on the ground (no floor).

Once I was outside the city, things got better. The breeze was cooling
and the ocean views were great. After almost a day of biking, I came
to Hanauma Bay, the underwater beach park. It was protected by
horseshoe shaped peninsulas on both sides and a large offshore coral
reef that kept the surf from breaking on the beach. The natural coral
formations beneath the water's surface, home to thousands of beautiful
fish, were accessible to the most inexperienced divers. In effect, the
place was a huge aquarium.

I arrived in late afternoon, just before the rains came. Bicycling in
Hawaii was so exciting, I hadn't noticed that I had gotten too much
sun, way too much. I took shelter in a natural opening in a cliff.
This sunburn was a first for me. I tanned real easy. The rains came
and the two people still on the beach were leaving. In my hollowed out
cave, I knew I was home free for the night. I couldn't move anyway. It
was in too much pain! I vomited a couple of times. God bless the
rains. If it weren't for them, the sun would have turned me into toast.

Hawaiian Hobo

Ala Moana Beach


Renewing Friendships

It was late when my luggage finally arrived. I decided to stay in
Honolulu for the night because I needed to contact John and his wife. When I
went back to the beach, I met some locals who told me that the beach
was patrolled, and if I got caught at night sleeping, I would get
ticketed or worse. That was the bad news. The good news was that the
beach was large. The chances of not getting caught were pretty good. I
slept just up from the beach, next to some heavy vegetation. I didn't
know it until I got up in the morning, but there was another person
sleeping not more than twenty yards from me. As I walked my bike past
him, (he was crouched over a little fire with a can of something
cooking) he nodded his hat at me. He looked like a 1930's hobo; a
picture I did not expect to see in "paradise."

I phoned John, and Bev answered. After I told her who I was, and that
I was in the city, I asked if I could come over. She said, "Sure."
When I arrived I was welcomed with a big hug. After I told her that I
wanted to get a job and stay in Hawaii, but right now I needed a place
to pick up my mail, she was all heart. She said she would have to talk
to John, but didn't see a problem with that. John wasn't expected home
until 6 p.m., and I wanted to start bicycling around the island, so
Bev came up with the perfect solution. John, Bev, and another hometown
kid stationed in Hawaii (I didn't know him) were going to Hanauma Bay
Underwater Park on Saturday and I could meet them there. "That sounds
like a date to me," I said, so after we talked a little about the old
school days; I took off for the unemployment office. When I got there
I took a chance and used John's address. I was pretty sure it would be
okay.

From Zero Degrees To Hawaii

Rascals--My Hawaii
There are no words
To describe what is felt in your heart
When your heart has already seen the magic
Of all the islands




Touch Down
Jan. 26, 1973

Three days ago, I departed Tri-City Airport enroot to our 50th state.
After much delay, I arrived at the Oahu International Airport ten
hours late. Upon arrival, I was greeted by a United Airlines
representative who told me, "Sorry, we seem to have lost your luggage.
Not to worry though," he said, "eventually, we get our man, errr,
luggage that is." After paying $200 for a one-way ticket, plus an
additional $9 dollars for my bicycle, putting in another eight or nine
hours at the airport was not a happy thought. However, it wasn't all that bad because I only had $50 in my pocket (and the promise of an eventual unemployment check if and when I could establish an address). Back when Mike, Denny,
and I had biked out west, Mike kept his unemployment checks coming. Every two
weeks he would stop at an unemployment office and check in. When he stayed in
one spot long enough, his unemployment monies would reach him. I planned on
pretty much following the same procedure. I had an address of an old High School acquaintance stationed at a military base in Honolulu. I would check the
possibility of that favor out as soon as I found time to do it, but now
I just wanted my bike and clothes back from the airlines.

I spent the night at the airport; at least the weather was nice. In
the morning, my stuff still had not arrived, so (on the advice from of
a baggage handler) I took a bus to the beach, the big Honolulu beach.
When I arrived, there was a marvelous view of Diamond Head. It was
early, so I had no problem finding a place on the beach to crash for a
few hours. Directly across from the beach was a large Mall, the Ala
Moana Shopping Center. I spent the latter part of the morning taking
in the sights there. It looked like Hawaii was going to be fun. Food
vendors were on every street corner providing inexpensive Asian foods.
On my way back to the beach, I met three dudes from Seattle. They had
been in Honolulu for two weeks and were living out of a car. On their
second day in Hawaii, two of them found work. That was promising news;
except for the cost of living, Hawaii might really be "paradise."

School--No School--Night Shift

Trying To Work It Out

For me the academic semester was short lived. I got "the call" from
CMU to report to work. I was hired into what CMU called its "pool of
temporary custodians." The good news was when a regular custodian
quit, retired, or was fired a temporary would take his/her place. The
bad news was I had to quit school to get the job, and I was not
guaranteed a job in the end. If you didn't measure up, or weren't
liked, a less senior temporary custodian would be put into the open
position. I was second in line to get a job, and they didn't become
available very often, so I was in for a long wait.

Three weeks into the semester I dropped out of school. I didn't even
have time to get to know which of my classes I liked best. I had a
cool instructor for my music class and we spent a lot of time listening
to albums. I really liked Debussy's music, and Shoenburg's stuff
sounded almost like jazz. I enjoyed my Philosophy class too; my
Professor was Swedish, I think. Sometimes I could barely understand
him. The first day of class he held up a thick book and told the
class, "In this century no book has been written that is more
important than this one." He then apologized for the price, $15. I
wasn't in the class long enough to find out what he meant. I never did
buy the book. When I went over to the bookstore to look at it, I was
glad that I didn't have to read it. The book was titled, Being and
Time. Based on its title, I guessed the author, Heidegger, had figured
something important out. I'd have to wait to find out what.

After working for almost four months, I was laid off. But even before
that, I was passed over in the line of CMU employee wannabe's (there
were three of us) and that was worse than getting laid off. The
"regular position" went to the guy who had worked only two months. I
was angry and disappointed. I wanted that job. I earned it. When I
went to see the of Personnel Director he said, "We hire again in
January. Be patient." When I stormed out of his office, the secretary
gave me a funny look and said, "What do you expect? CMU doesn't hire
hippies." I didn't know if she was trying to be sarcastic or nice. My
hair was long, but not that long, and although I tried not to talk
politics on the job, I did hang out with the one student worker who
was a member of the SDS, a radical political organization. I didn't
know what it was. I just knew that I had had it with CMU and its
butt-kissing policies. I went home to Carol Sue and told her that I
was going back on the road.

That scene was not a pleasant one. Apparently, that was the last
thing she wanted to hear from me because she started crying
immediately, and C.S. didn't cry, at least I had never seen her cry. I
told her I wasn't leaving yet. It would be after the holidays. She
felt a little better after that. In the candle light, C.S. and I
were lying in bed, listening to Elton John's music, when she started
crying. She didn't want me to leave. She didn't understand why I had
to go. She said, "If you loved me, you wouldn't go. You would find
your damn custodian job in Michigan and stay with me."
She wasn't laughing when she told me that either. Normally,
when she thought about my life goal, to become a janitor,
she always laughed. I guess that was why we got along so well. We
laughed a lot. This time, however, she was crying. She felt I was
throwing everything away. She felt I was deserting her. Out
from the tears she screamed at me, "Why?" Out through my own
tears I responded, "Because I have to. I can't stay here anymore.
When I find work I'll send for you. We will live together,
all of us, you, me, and Rodney" (her five year old son). I didn't
want to leave her. I didn't want to end our relationship.
I discovered, through my tears, I really meant what I had said. I
wanted to be with her more than anything else. But, I needed a job too,
and where better to work than in Hawaii? When I finally admitted
to myself and to C.S. that being together meant more to me than
anything else, I felt shivers run up and down my spine.

After a while, my parents and Carole Sue accepted the fact that
I was leaving again. Maybe the fact that I was going to Hawaii made
it easier for them to accept. Who didn't want to go to Hawaii?
The U of H had a great Asian Studies Program, and they also had a
good Philosophy Department. I figured as long as I was going to have
to beg for a university custodian job anyway, I might as well beg at a
university that had lots of interesting subjects to study; and
besides, the weather in Hawaii wasn't too shabby either.

Academia Dirge

You know he's Norman Normal, He looks a lot like you.
Ev'ry party that Norman goes to
You've been there before,
He's got some funny things he might have said
That he forgets until they close the door.
You know he's Norman Normal, He acts a lot like you.

Sometimes I feel
Like a motherless child
Sometimes I feel
Like a motherless child
A long...a long way...from home


Another Semester
Sept/Dec `72


On this first day of class, I am promenading among the multitudes once
again. The many flavors of University are obvious. Sidewalk chalked
markings of various radical movements greet me, and, glancing up, I
see bouncing breasts of braless chicks exhibiting their individualism.
In an incredible display of drama I see students reunite with friends
and Professors. They reinforce goals and purpose in this way—whether
for fame, fortune, or marriage; this is indeed the college trip. Long
ago I realized this performance contributed nothing to an already
worthless play.

Once, an excited and eager student myself, I bought into the endless
erudition flowing from the mouths of educators. I thirsted for
knowledge, albeit the knowledge that kept me from seeing the
fictitious university ideals, but I learned fast and now I'm back.
And, although I am still in the performance, I am fully aware of the
masquerade. I have breached the `nausea of intent,' and remain
outside of the drama. This is an anti-climatic play—it's purpose
simply void.

In this world I am alone, but I do not mind loneliness. For the
aspiring student, university is a `means to an end,' but for me it is
simply `an end.' I eat for survival first, and then for fun. To
survive, I feed my mind. Sometimes it even feels good. Here, at
university, I am centered within a smorgasbord of sustenance. I am a
creature of desire and satisfaction in a culture of excess.


Upon my return to CMU, after a gratifying summer bicycle trip, thus
began my first day of class. My classes were Cultural Anthropology,
Music Appreciation, Theories of Personality, and Existentialism. After
a week, however, I was back in the Personnel Office, updating my work
application. It had only been a year and half since I used to sit in
that office, waiting for employment, doing my homework. Once again I
told Terry, the director, that I wanted a job, and I would quit school
to get it. He knew I was serious. He said, "I'll see what I can do."

When I Started Singin'

I started singin’,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."

Da Yooper--Indigenous Species Found Only In Michigan’s Upper Peninsula




Michigan
Aug. 22 '72

Upon arriving in upper Michigan, the rides dried up. I spent two hours watching
the sun go down. At dusk, the mosquitoes swarmed. It was around 80
degrees, and, because of the mosquitoes, I had my jacket buttoned up
and gloves on. It was not fun! A train, a couple hundred yards off to
my right, was dropping off and picking up cars. I was seriously
considering jumping on one of the boxcars when a car pulled over and
the driver said, "How ya doing tonight?" I replied, "Fine. How are you
doing?" The cat said, "Couldn't be better! Couldn't be worse!" As we
headed down the highway, I sat listening to this dude sing along with
the radio, which was playing Don McLean's "American Pie." When the
song had ended, he apologized for ignoring me and then told me he was
going to Bad Ax, Michigan. That was the best news I had heard in
weeks. I was home free, and I had an all-night car ride to boot.

When I left on this trip, I didn't know how long I would be gone. If
I had gotten a university custodian job, I would have stayed. I still
had two hundred dollars in my pocket, and now that I was back home, I
needed to buy a bicycle. If I didn't buy one now, I would not only be
without a bicycle, I would also be without the money to buy one -- not
a happy thought. When I arrived in Bay City, a little after 7 a.m., I
went straight to the bicycle shop. The bike I wanted wasn't in stock.
I then hitchhiked over to Midland and found a Super Sport (the same as
my stolen bike) at another Schwinn dealership. I rode my new bike to
Houghton Lake (fifty miles north), and then went over to Carole Sue's
where I received a warm welcome. The next day I biked home to my
parent's house.

On The Road Again

Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?
People can be so cold.
They'll hurt you and desert you.
They'll take your soul if you let them.
Oh yeah, but don't you let them.

West Yellowstone


Northern Wisconsin
Aug. '72

It was dark by the time I got a ride into Spokane. Rather than get
stranded in the city, I decided to spend the night in the woods.
Unfortunately, it rained, so I ended up spending the night under an
expressway overpass. (Gee, there's nothing like being lulled to sleep
by screaming semis.) Needless to say I was up at daybreak trying to
get a ride into Spokane. I needed warm, dry clothing. The temperature
had dropped and I was wet from the night before. In the city I went
looking for a Salvation Army store. After I found one, I walked away
with a British Navy jacket for only a dollar. It was wool, warm, and
appreciated. The weather was miserable, but at least I felt a whole
lot better wearing my spiffy new jacket.

The rain started up again, but before too long it stopped and then
started up again. It was that kind of day. Rides were short, but I was
thankful for every one. I met a lot of people. Twice, I had joints
laid on me. One ride was in a far out hippie van where lots of great
music was played. In that van I met Peter, another hitchhiker heading
to Ohio. When the driver dropped us off, we agreed to travel together.

The weather cleared a bit once we hit Montana. In Missoula, Peter and
I erected a lean-to behind a gas station to escape from what turned
out to be the last of the rain. The lean-to worked well. The next day
was sunny, and we hoped we would catch a long ride.

Aug. 22

After three rides, a really nice couple heading to Yellowstone picked
us up. We camped at the beautiful West entrance of the park. I'd been
to all of them now. You can't get into Yellowstone without being awed
right from the start. I was traveling alone now. Peter stayed to see
the park with the guy and his chick. While in the park, I managed to
see two more black bears and another Bull Moose. Yellowstone was the
best park for seeing animals.

At the East entrance, I got a ride all the way to Minnesota. The
driver was not pleasant. He wanted a gas contribution, so I gave him
$5. I was glad when we finally went our separate ways. After that, I
decided to take the ferryboat across Lake Michigan. When the hitching
got poor (five cars in four hours), I turned around and headed back to
the north/south highway. The rides got better after that. The
hospitality I encountered during a couple of my rides left me somewhat
inebriated. The beer flowed, and the smoke dope was in abundance.
Those Badgers really knew how to enjoy themselves! By the time I
reached northern Wisconsin, I could barely walk.

So Long Old Friend

So Go And Follow Your Way And I Will Follow Mine
Take It To The Limit But Don’t Cross The Line



Yakima Valley, Washington
Aug. 12, `72

I didn't want to arrive in Seattle on a weekend. I needed a business
day to apply for a job at the university. I remembered that Connie,
back in Victoria, had told us that China Beach was a good place to
camp. It was just a little tricky getting to it. If you missed the
small sign at the turn off, you also missed China Beach. We left Old
Smoke in the parking area and walked along a wooded trail for about a
mile. Connie was right. The beach was ideal and accessible. There were
people camping there, but that wasn't a problem. There was plenty of
room on the beach, and we even managed to share some beers with some
N.Y.C. teachers who were also camping. The weather wasn't very
hospitable, but I took an ice cold bath in the ocean anyway.

Aug. 16

In Victoria we caught a Ferry to Seattle. Once there, we got back in
touch with the West Coast Trail chicks, and, over the phone, they
said, "Sure, come on over." Mike and I, after eating tacos at a
restaurant, showed up at the girls' house. They were still
entertaining their four Berkeley friends. Everybody sat around
drinking wine and reminiscing about the "perils of the trail." At the
end of the evening, there was enough floor space for Mike and I to
roll out our sleeping bags.

The next day I went to the University of Washington and tried to get
a job. It was the same old story, "Sorry, we aren't hiring." With that
piece of predictable news we jumped into Old Smoke and headed
southeast. When we came to the fruit laden valley of Yakima, it was
time to say goodbye. It was a little hard. Our roles had reversed.
Originally, I had been the one who intended to stay out west. As I
watched Old Smoke's taillights disappear down the country road, I
wondered when I would get to see my good friend again. It was picking
season in Washington, and jobs were plentiful. Mike was on his way to
try his luck at picking apples. I, on the other hand, put on my
hitchhiking face and hunkered down for the long haul. I turned to the
highway that stretched out before me, and stuck out my thumb. The
cars, one after the other, swished by me, just like when they had done
it a thousand times before.

Crucified Mouse

The Return Hike
Vancouver Island, B.C.

After six days on the trail we had run out of food and were ready to
hike out. We timed our departure with the morning tide. That way, we
could hike the beach instead of the trail. Going around one point was
a bit precarious. We were late, and the tide had started to come in.
We made it across the rocks just as the rocks sank beneath the waves.
Both Mike and I were wet from the waist down after that. Struggling to
get around the point, the waves lapped at my backpack, sucking away my
tent, apparently. At Thrasher Cove, we found another tent that
somebody had left behind. What a piece of luck. We dried out sitting
around the fire after we got our camp set up.

Camping at Thrasher Cove with the mice was a little less comfortable
this time. Perhaps it was because the mice were not so vocal back
then. This time the squeaking sounds could be heard everywhere. (A
convention perhaps?) Just as we were trying to go to sleep, the mice
started to party. They nibbled our shoes, our tent, and everything
else they could get their teeth into. The sound of their nibbling kept
us awake. I called it quits when an over-zealous mouse found his way
into our tent. I grabbed my sleeping bag and went closer to the ocean.
I threw my bag down in the curve of a huge driftwood log, crawled in,
and went to sleep. I wasn't bothered (by mice at least) for the rest
of the night.

In the morning I found Mike outside the tent, sleeping on the ground.
Next to him was a dead mouse tied to two sticks that were sticking in
the ground next to where he was sleeping. As Mike had told the story,
(he was never at a lose for words), after the mouse had gotten inside
the tent, he'd gone outside to sleep. He had gotten really angry when
a mouse ran across his face. He'd found a stick and managed to kill a
mouse. He'd then crucified the body and left it standing close to
where he was sleeping. He said, "After the crucifixion they left me
alone for the rest of the night. I guess squeak-of-mouth got around
because that was the end of their jamboree."

The last part of our hike was the part the Seattle chicks found so
horrendous. Although the trail didn't seem as bad as the girls had
made it sound, it was the most rugged part. The steep ravines were the
major obstacles. On some of the ups and downs, there were large ropes
to help negotiate the climb. Sometimes they came in handy; other times
they just got in the way. We had to cross another timber bridge also.
That one consisted of trees larger than the ones we had hiked on
before. Because of the rocky, hilly terrain, the huge fallen giants
became a necessary part of the trail. They were the trail. It took us
almost three hours to walk the three miles. The scenery was fantastic.

Rainbow Colored Cliffs

Vancouver Island
West Coast Trail

The camp at Culet Cove was really far out. The beach was enclosed by
rainbow colored cliffs. For hikers going from south to north, it was
not a place that you would arrive at after a full day's hike. It was
perfect for the girls though; as it turned out they were deliberately
trying to go slow, so their friend could catch up. Mike and I liked
the place so much that we decided to stay. The girls told us that the
rest of the trail was not as awesome anyway. According to them, there
was a large waterfall and another river you had to cross, but except
for those two scenic wonders, the best part of the trail was behind
us. From Culet Cove to Bamfield it was mostly beach hiking. Apparently
the river that had to be crossed (if you were going to Bamfield) was
deep. There was a raft to put your packs on. That sounded like fun,
too bad we had to miss it.

Actually, Mike and I wanted to hike the whole trail, but that meant
we would have had to hitchhike back to our truck from Bamfield, not a
happy thought. When the girls left in the morning we said good-bye,
and then proceeded to take over their campsite. We had the place to
ourselves, and the weather didn't disappoint. It was hot and sunny.

We tried out hand at ocean fishing, but didn't catch anything. Mike
did manage to catch a few small trout in the stream that extended
inland, but he threw them back because they were to small to eat. We
spent most of our time lying around in the sun. I did spend one
afternoon trying to see what the shipwrecked sailors had to contend
with only I did it in reverse. I started from the trail and tried to
get to the beach. After getting lost, I finally returned to the trail,
bleeding, sweaty, and disappointed. I never left the beach after that.

Culet Cove was the ideal vacation spot. The whole time we were there,
we were chaperoned by a friendly sea lion. Actually, we were his
guests, since it was his home. In the daytime, he would stay out
around the kelp, swimming. At night, however, he would come in close
to shore. Maybe that was his way of showing us his hospitality.
Whatever it was, Mike and I sure enjoyed him.

Campers Cove

West Coast Trail

The next day the girls broke camp early. Since we weren't going
anywhere in particular, Mike and I were in no hurry. Nevertheless,
after we started hiking, we passed the girls on the trail. At first
the trail followed the coastline. You had to be careful, though,
because that part of the trail was under water during high tide. The
trail further inland, when accessible, was even more difficult.

We hadn't walked very far before we came to the end of the rocky
coastline trail. Steep cliffs prevented us from going any farther. A
stream emptied into the ocean at that spot, so we hiked upstream
hoping to find the inland trail. We searched for two or three hours
before we found it. The trail was full of mud, not just wet dirt, but
three or four inches of real mud. As we moved through the hilly jungle
terrain, that mud continually challenged us.

At times, fallen trees blocked the trail. The trees were huge and the
foliage off the trail was too dense to walk through. It was either up
and over or down and under. When possible, it was up and over, but
more often than not, it was down and under. A backpack strapped to
your back, crawling on hands and knees through four inches of mud,
was, to put it mildly, not a nice experience. Occasionally, the
blocking trees were so numerous that a natural bridge of interlocking
tree trunks was created. On top of a fallen tree trunk, a two-foot
wide path opened and meandered, pick-up stick fashion, sometimes 50 or
60 feet above the jungle floor. It was both eerie and stimulating to
be walking on dead trees at that height. That night we stayed at a
place called, appropriately, Camper's Cove. We were exhausted from hiking.

The next morning we were up and at'em, moving through the jungle,
taking advantage of the ocean scenery whenever possible. In the
afternoon we came to a particularly beautiful spot just off the main
trail. We were high above the ocean when we spied an opening at the
edge of the cliff. When we walked towards it, we discovered a scenic
view that was fantastic. A beam of sunlight shone directly upon us as
we found a dry spot to sit with our backs propped up against a tree
trunk. A thousand feet below, the ocean stretched to the horizon, and
just off to our left, the majestic Olympic Peninsula (back in the
States) rose out of the ocean. The snow capped mountain peaks shown
like diamonds in the sky. Mike and I were speechless. We looked at
each other and knew we weren't going anywhere. Then, Mike remembered
the marijuana he was holding. With generous amounts of smoke dope,
under the bluest of blue skies, with light dancing off the ocean's
surface, we lulled ourselves into a euphoric stupor.

If it hadn't been for the dude who came up to us and asked if we had
seen any girls hiking the trail (the chick's had leap-froged us a
couple hours earlier), we might have had to spent the night there. At
that point, we realized there was no room for a tent or a campfire, so
we hit the trail again. When we reached Culet Cove we joined everybody
in a reunion of sorts. The chicks had built a nice shelter from the
driftwood lying about. When they asked us to join them for dinner, we
were happy to oblige. Their delicious rice dish and their company were
very much appreciated. The chick's four friends were visiting from
Berkley. None of them had hiked the West Coast Trail before, but the
girls, who had a house in Seattle, had heard about it and thought it
would be an enjoyable adventure for everyone. As best I could tell,
they were right.

Thrasher Cove

West Coast Trail

In his 16-foot rowboat, powered by an old 10-horse outboard motor,
we headed out into the Pacific Ocean (an obvious mismatch—but
exciting). We got a first hand look at how rugged the west coast of
the island actually was. I'm sure, secretly, Mike was hoping we didn't
end up like those shipwrecked sailors. I know that's what I was
thinking. The West Coast Trail ended in Bamfield, fifty miles up the
coast (hundreds of miles by car). Mike and I agreed we weren't going
to hike the entire trail. The part of the trail we missed by taking
the boat, we would hit on the way back.

We got dropped off on a small beach. Until then, it was all jungle
and jagged rocks. The Indian was right; where he dropped us off was a
good place for a camp. After dinner, we were enjoying a cigarette and
the beautiful view of the ocean (even though it was cloudy and getting
dark) when we heard screaming voices coming toward us. The voices
turned out to be four chicks and one guy who were just now arriving
after beginning their hike six hours earlier.

Standing around our cozy campfire, they'd told us they had a hell of
a time. They got lost a couple of times and found using the ropes to
climb up and down the steep ravines very difficult. They were
scratched and bruised and just plain exhausted. They asked Mike and me
how we reached Thrasher Cove before they did if we left later then
they did. With a mouth full of embarrassment, I told them we paid
three dollars and took the boat.