Transcontinental tales

All right, so let's see if I can stop talking about myself and start talking about some of the people I meet.

Patrick Clancey is a trainer for a large trucking company. He is originally from Long Island but now lives near Knoxville, Tennessee. Equipped with more of a Brooklyn accent--as opposed to a Long Island accent--Patrick is a huge Ozzy Osbourne fan, which seems to drive his current trainee Salim ("SAH-leem") Napier a little nuts sometimes because, as you might have guessed, Salim is black and likes R&B music. It's not a hostile kind of nuts, though; more like a "Jeez, I wish he'd turn that shit off" kind of nuts.

Patrick and Salim get along very well, and I got along well with both of them for over 5,000 miles. In their cab you'll hear a lot of playful references to chicken, watermelons, and crackers, as well as some other usually-racially-derogatory terms, but it's all in fun in their particular Freightliner.

On to Patrick: When Pat is sleeping, he is both funny and scary. He apparently has narcolepsy and sleep apnea, along with some other custom-made, freaky sleep habits. When he sleeps, his snores sound like a lion's roar. He often sleeps sitting up, occasionally talking in his sleep, making for many confusing moments.

There is a fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness with Patrick. When he is not driving, he bounces back and forth between sleep and not-sleep just about every few seconds. There were many times when he would be sitting on the passenger seat asleep, only to wake up and light a Pall Mall, take a hit or two, then fall back asleep in an upright position with the lit cigarette between his fingers. A few seconds later he would wake up and take another hit, then likely fall back asleep for ten or twenty seconds. During these episodes, Salim and I usually paid pretty close attention to Patrick because, well, that's kinda freaky.

Even more freaky was when Patrick "drove the truck" in his sleep. Sometimes when Salim was driving and Pat was sleeping in the passenger seat, Pat would reach for various instruments on the truck's instrument panel, like the parking brake controls. Salim would have to keep a close eye on Pat at moments like this because even when asleep, Pat's brain seems to remain operating an 18-wheeler.

Thursday morning while sleeping in the passenger seat, Pat reached for his door handle and pulled on it, slightly opening the door. Salim was quick to notice this and vigilantly shouted something to Pat, in an attempt to snap him out of it. It worked; Pat woke up and pulled the door shut.

This kind of stuff happens very regularly when Pat is not driving. Obviously it is kind of stressful for the other people in the cab. But when Pat is behind the wheel, he's as solid as a rock. He does not drift in and out of full consciousness; his attention is totally on the task at hand. He is a very safe driver.

As of right now, Salim has about a week of training left before he becomes a regular employee. Even with the good relationship between Salim and Pat, I'm sure Salim is more than ready to move on. His nerves must be totally shot by now. He told me he is going to be a team driver when he finishes his training with Pat. I don't know if that is his choice or if you have to start out as a team driver; it sounded as if he chose to drive as part of a team.

Anyway, I'll probably see one or both of these guys somewhere down the road. Pat and I exchanged phone numbers, so I can see myself potentially climbing back into his blue Freightliner again someday. It certainly will not be for a ride back and forth across the entire country, though.

Here's a pic of Salim. I never got around to taking a picture of Pat.

In other news, I'm going to wait until tomorrow to leave Brad's house, rather than today, because the weather is supposed to be a little better tomorrow. I intend to write another post later today about some things we've done here in Evansville.

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In something totally unrelated... Brad, I looked up the lyrics to that Pretenders song we heard at the airport. Here's what she says:

GONNA USE MY ARMS
GONNA USE MY LEGS
GONNA USE MY STYLE
GONNA USE MY SIDESTEP
GONNA USE MY FINGERS
GONNA USE MY, MY, MY IMAGINATION

I've been wondering for years what the hell she says there. (I'll probably forget in five minutes.)

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
Call me sometime; I get lonely. 614-738-3867

Blog help

While reading my recent blog posts a couple days ago, I realized something: I tend to write a lot about where I am and what's going on with me, but I don't usually say much about the people I meet or the things that happen around me. I concluded that if I was a reader of this blog, I would find it pretty boring and incomplete. I would probably think, "That guy (me) is pretty self-centered."

The problem is not that I mean to talk about myself all the time. The problem is that I have the wrong tools with which to blog. With each post I send from my phone, I have only 1,000 characters to say what I want to say, and I have to say it with a numbered keypad, not a keyboard. With only this method available to me, every blog entry requires way too much time and work, and editing/redrafting can be damn near impossible sometimes. Also, when I'm on the road, there's constantly so much sensory information to filter, it's difficult for me to recognize what's interesting and what's boring.

Considering these obstacles (as well as all the other obstacles I have not mentioned here), I have a favor to ask of this blog's readers: Whenever I write about something that sounds like it might be pretty interesting but I don't say much about it, call me and let me know you would like me to elaborate. (That is, unless you have an ultralight laptop you're willing to give me.)

614-738-3867

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I had a lot more to say about my recent trip, as well as some stuff about my time in Evansville, but I don't feel like saying it all right now. Hopefully I'll get a chance to say it later tonight or tomorrow. Also, I'll probably take off from Brad's house tomorrow. (Brad lives right down the street from a huge railroad yard. Wink wink.)

Until next time, here's a picture of Brad and his son Kam playing a wrasslin' video game.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Ready to eject

I thought we were going to continue heading toward Owensboro, Kentucky this afternoon and evening, but we're still in or near Columbia, Missouri, apparently for the night. That sucks for me because: 1) I wanted to get all the way to Evansville, Indiana tonight to see Brad "Fishbone" Perkins, whom I have not seen in at least ten years; 2) I've been stuffed in a truck with two guys and a broken-legged, pissing chihuahua (sp?) for almost every minute of the last five days; and 3) Since there is currently no one driving, I have nowhere to sleep. --> I've enjoyed riding with these guys--they're both very cool--but spending five days in a crowded truck wears on you. There is almost no chance I will accept any more rides from one coast to the other and back. From now on, all rides will be one-way, with a few possible exceptions, like if I cross paths with Travis again. (Hey Travis: If you're
out there, give me a call sometime.) --> See ya sometime tomorrow, Brad.

Owensboro

Hey Brad (Fishbone): We'll be arriving in Owensboro tonight to deliver a load, but they won't accept the load until Friday, so I was thinking maybe we could meet up somewhere if you're available. I know this is really short notice, but I just found out myself. We're in Kansas City right now (at about 3:00 CDT), so it'll be a while before we hit Evansville; it'll be sometime tonight. I guess you can just call me if you have some time to hang out. (There are surely many other possible options.) Y'know, I don't have to go all the way to Knoxville with these guys, either. I can do whatever I want. --> I love Oregon. I could see myself calling Oregon home someday.

Quick 6k

We made it to Portland today at about noon or 1:00 PM local time. So it took less than two and a half days to get from Atlanta to Portland. We dropped the trailer somewhere on the south side of town and are now waiting at a truck stop for another driver to bring us the trailer we'll be taking back east. I don't really feel like riding right back through Idaho, Wyoming, Nebraska, and Missouri, but it just wouldn't seem right for me to part ways with the guys right now, so I'll be going back that way. --> I wish we were near downtown Portland right now because I really need to get to an REI store soon and I know where the downtown Portland REI store is. --> Now Pat is talking about taking a different route back east; maybe down I-5 to Sacramento, then east. That might be cool, except we'd still have to go across Wyoming, Nebraska, and Missouri. Oh, whatever. --> I probably won't have much
to say for the next few days because I'll be riding another 3,000 miles in a Freightliner.

Hair gone

Did anyone think I was bullshitting about cutting off all my hair? I ended up cutting it entirely with scissors because the clippers just wouldn't cut anything; not even after I'd finally finished cutting it all off with the scissors. And even though the picture is from about five days ago, that's still how my hair looks because I haven't passed a barber shop yet. Good thing I have a hat. --> Here's the deal with going to Portland: I'm riding with a trainer named Pat and a trainee named Salim. With two drivers, we've been moving almost nonstop since leaving Atlanta. We're currently in Cheyenne, 1,180 miles from Portland. Right now the premise is that I'll be riding back to Tennessee with them after they finish their business in Portland. But who knows; I might just end up staying in Portland, then doing the west coast thing. I have 24 hours to think about it. --> I've decided I'm not
going to read blog comments while I'm on the road; not even when I can.

Post-Metter

I checked out of the motel yesterday morning and went straight to the crappy on-ramp where I'd had no luck two days earlier, but my luck quickly changed. Within an hour, I was riding to Atlanta with a girl named Rachel Head. She was cool. Our conversation held steady for the entire ride until she dropped me off near the Atlanta airport. Within a few hours I had another ride, to a Pilot station on the northwest side of Atlanta, with a guy named Gary Cox. This truck stop was very small, so after a few hours I decided to walk 7 miles to what someone told me was a bigger Pilot station. The walk kinda sucked because it was raining most of the time, then the Pilot turned out to be Petro, which tends to have tight "tramp security." When I arrived, at about 2:30 AM, security was quick to approach me, but I said I just needed to sit for a while and dry off. He said it was OK. Right away a driver
started talking to me, and now we're about an hour west of St. Louis, heading to Portland.

Metter Part 7

Long story short: The cop was a total prickwad asshole. He treated me like I was wasting his time, telling me I could walk to the motel down the road. The problem was that I was cold to the bone and all my stuff was soaked, adding a lot of weight and making it difficult to compress things. --> That fuckface ought to be fired. If I hadn't been genuinely concerned about my safety, I wouldn't have called 911. --> Maybe half an hour after the dickhead cop left, I found some energy within myself, probably because I was so pissed off about the way he treated me. So I packed up my stuff and walked to the EconoLodge, with my feet sloshing in my water-filled boots. And for the first time in my Aimless career, six hours after the misery began, I paid for lodging. It was the right thing to do, though, because checking in at 10:00 bought me 25 hours to get some rest and dry all my stuff, including
my tent (which now has three small rips in the floor). That was Thursday.

Metter Part 6

After putting all my stuff under the overpass, I returned to my tent to remove the stakes. (I lost one stake in the water, which was 6-8 inches deep at this point.) I moved the tent, still pitched, to the overpass with the rest of my stuff, then I scattered my stuff all over the guardrail and the ground in an attempt to allow things to drip "dry" before removing my emergency blanket from its package. Wrapping the emergency blanket around myself, I lied down and waited, hoping someone (like a cop) would stop and help me get somewhere warm and dry. No one stopped. --> I don't remember much from the next couple hours, but I do remember hoping sunrise would make things a little better. It didn't, and I was now cold and desperate enough to call 911. But having dropped my phone in the water, I wasn't sure it would ever work again. Fortunately it did work, so I asked the 911 operator to send
someone to help me. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, a Metter Police officer showed up...

Metter Part 5

With most of my stuff near the on-ramp's asphalt surface, I looked around for some kind of shelter. If my stuff had been dry and packed, I could've carried it to a nearby gas station or something, but it was neither dry nor packed. Consequently, my only option was to relocate everything under the overpass and hope for a safe, dry spot. So in two or three trips I moved everything about 300 feet to a spot below the overpass, each time walking past my tent, which was 50 or 100 feet from the overpass. --> With a wide shoulder and a guardrail, the space under the overpass was safe, but it wasn't dry. The shoulder itself was mostly dry, but there was a constant stream of water draining from the overpass behind the guardrail, making my life slightly less miserable than it had been moments earlier. (If you haven't figured this out already, I couldn't occupy the dry interstate shoulder because
that would have been dangerous and stupid.) It was also windy below the overpass, which didn't help...

Metter Part 4

There was higher ground about fifty feet away from my tent, so that's where I placed my backpack and camera bag before returning to the tent to fetch my sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and various other items I remove from my pack each night when I sleep. (Keep in mind, it was still raining steadily, so even though I was moving everything to higher ground, out of the new pond, it was all still getting very wet.) --> Instead of setting the remaining items near the backpack, I carried them about 200 feet to the on-ramp, above the bowl, where there was little standing water. I then returned to grab the backpack and camera bag, carrying them to the on-ramp pile. --> Even though I'd now moved most of my stuff fully out of standing water, leaving a few things behind inside the tent/lake, I was deep in the midst of a serious "Oh Fuck!" moment because most everything, including myself and my
clothes, was thoroughly drenched and I was nowhere near anything that could shelter me from the rain...

Metter Part 4

There was higher ground about fifty feet away from my tent, so that's where I placed my backpack and camera bag before returning to the tent to fetch my sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and various other items I remove from my pack each night when I sleep. (Keep in mind, it was still raining steadily, so even though I was moving everything to higher ground, out of the new pond, it was all still getting very wet.) --> Instead of setting the remaining items near the backpack, I carried them about 200 feet to the on-ramp, above the bowl, where there was little standing water. I then returned to grab the backpack and camera bag, carrying them to the on-ramp pile. --> Even though I'd now moved most of my stuff fully out of standing water, leaving a few things behind inside the tent/lake, I was deep in the midst of a serious "Oh Fuck!" moment because most everything, including myself and my
clothes, was thoroughly drenched and I was nowhere near anything that could shelter me from the rain...

Metter Part 3

Only a few minutes after making the assessment that I was in OK shape, I looked out the tent door into the vestibule, where I'd left my boots and tripod. It looked as if the tripod was pretty much submerged, and my boots were kinda floating. Time for reassessment! --> I was now a little worried, but I still thought I was OK because it looked like the tripod had been in an anomalous rut, while most of my tent was safely adjacent to the rut. However, when I reached outside to move the tripod, the "levee broke," causing a lot of water to enter the tent. --> At this point I knew I was pretty screwed. Wearing only a shirt and underwear, I reached for my jeans, which were already well on their way to being soaked. I also grabbed my phone and camera bag as I stumbled out of the tent, trying to put on my jeans. --> I didn't know what to do, so I slung the camera bag on my shoulder and pulled my
backpack out of the tent before looking for higher ground nearby, where I could place the stuff...

Metter Part 2

On the way back toward the interstate from downtown Metter Wednesday night, it began raining lightly; more like a mist than a true rain. It felt like the kind of precipitation that would pass within a couple hours, so I wasn't worried. After walking through the mist for about a mile, I'd reached the interstate once again, where I quickly found a spot between the on-ramp and the roadway to set up camp. The area between the ramp and road is much like a bowl, but I felt pretty sure that I'd found a high enough spot for safe camping. Good thing, too, because a steady rain began just as I finished setting up. --> I got to sleep pretty easily at about 12:30, then woke up at about 4:00, quickly noticing the continuing rain and a shallow pool of water beneath the tent. No worry, though, because the tub-shaped floor of my tent protects up to at least a few inches on each side. It seemed my only
real problem was dealing with the cold water under the tent, which really didn't bother me, anyway...

Metter Part 1

Yesterday morning began with a two-mile walk to I-16, after sleeping in a dormant cotton field. At this exit there was one tiny "truck stop." With only two diesel islands, I didn't bother trying to get a ride there, but I did get some food--a chicken breast & wing, four huge potato-wedge-like thingies, and a roll for about $3.70. After lunch I headed to the on-ramp, where I didn't like my prospects, due to lite traffic and no shade. Nevertheless, I got a ride after less than an hour, to Metter. (Here's where it gets "fun.") --> In Metter I went straight to the on-ramp. Again, with no shade and 85- or 90-degree heat, I waited in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, with a "camp towel" wrapped around my neck for sun protection. Never feeling good about this spot, I waited there for five hours until it started getting dark. --> At nightfall I walked to town so I could look for a two-lane road
that'd take me toward the next exit. I ended up doing yet another unnecessary 7-mile walk to nowhere...

Yesterday sucked

So you thought I was exaggerating when I said I have hundreds of bug bites on my arms and legs, huh? Well, I'm not sure how much you can see from the picture, but that's just a small part of the inflicted area. Furthermore, I took the picture yesterday, after a few days of relative bug inactivity. --> I did not end up having to double back the entire six miles yesterday. It turns out that I was actually heading the right way when I started yesterday, but I should have taken a left after about 2.5 miles. Instead, I walked another 3.5 miles in the wrong direction, which means I ended up walking more than seven unnecessary miles. Yesterday sucked for a few other reasons, too, but I'm not going to get into that. The suckitude carried over to this morning, as well, with me accidentally putting a small hole in the mesh of my tent canopy. --> I think I'm finally only about a mile from I-16,
and I've been told there are truck stops there. There better be. If not, I'll be really pissed.

I just realized I've walked

I just realized I've walked six miles in the wrong fucking direction. So in a couple hours from now, I will have walked 12 miles to nowhere. Fun.

Money

I find money almost every day when I walk. Not much, but some. Thursday I found a penny. Friday I found two pennies. Saturday two nickels. And Sunday just a penny again. Today, in my first half-hour of walking, I found a dime and a penny. Ten minutes later I found a dime and about a hundred pennies. Less than an hour after that, another dime. Yesterday, however, I did not find any money, which is very unusual. --> A guy named Casey Case gave me a ride to Statesboro yesterday. I normally would have just asked him to drop me off near the interstate, but I was hungry, so I rode to town with him. After making a quick stop at KFC, he dropped me off near his apartment, where I sat and ate outside a doctor's office. Shortly he returned and said I could stay at his place for the night. I took a welcome shower and we talked quite a bit, then Casey brought me the hair clippers I'd asked about.
So, did I have the balls to use the clippers? Find out soon on ... TALES OF AIMLESSNESS

Hair on

Hair on.

Atlanta bound

All right, I'm not actually bound for Atlanta yet. Instead, I'm sitting on a guardrail beside the on-ramp from US 280 to I-16 West. I'm wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt to protect myself from the sun; I'd prefer to be wearing less. I want to get to Atlanta because there are a few REI stores there and I need some stuff. If I don't go to Atlanta, I probably won't be near another REI until Houston (supposing I go west, which seems to be the plan). --> Since I'm headed toward Atlanta, I think I might swing on into east Tennessee to watch the Final Four with my great uncle Fred, like I did two years ago, after I went to the Memphis Film Festival. (I think Fred may read this blog regularly, but I'm not sure. If so, how's that sound, Fred? Gimme a call if it sounds good. I'll gladly help you thin out the numbers of your crappie surplus!) ... [Later that day] Hey, I got a ride. Now I'm in
Statesboro. Not too far down the road, but better than it was. Now I have to walk back to I-16.

Closer to Atlanta

Yesterday I went ahead and waited by the I-95 on-ramp, rather than just setting up camp early. Half an hour later I was riding back to Savannah with a guy named Lee (from Sunbury?). He dropped me off near I-16 & I-95, where he pointed out a very nice place to camp. I had my tent set up by about 7:15 and fell asleep at 8 or 9. Woke up a couple times during the night, then woke up again at 5:30. This time I thought I would actually get up and start preparing to begin another day, but I went back to sleep for several more hours. (This shit is incredibly tiring.) I finally got all my stuff packed and resumed walking at 1:00. Right now I'm on a US route that parallels I-16, in Pooler, GA. Not trying to get a ride or anything; just gonna keep walking the rest of the day. I might shoot for 15 miles. The temperature is in the 50s today, which makes for pretty good walking weather. --> Now four
days into the new trek, I still have not used the camcorder. Also haven't seen b-ball this weekend.

Doing a 180

My plan as of this morning was to continue walking south on US 17, but that plan has changed at least twice already. Upon reaching Midway, GA, with no water, I stopped at Angie's Diner to ask if they would refill my water bottles, then I ended up buying lunch there. Soon after leaving the diner, I came upon the intersection of US 17 and US 84. Planning to stay on 17, I instead took a right (west) on 84. I took a break after a mile, then decided to turn around and go either east or south. When I returned to the intersection, I kept going east toward I-95. Now that I'm almost at I-95, I think I'll just set up camp before night falls, so I can try to get a ride early tomorrow, probably toward Atlanta, even though ATL is the opposite direction from where I've been heading. I don't care right now, though, because I have literally hundreds of bug bites on my arms and legs, from mosquitoes and
sand gnats. Also, the sun is killing me; I certainly don't want to go any farther south right now.

Day 2

I'm learning quickly that the second day of a new trek is always the toughest. Treadmill conditioning with 40 lbs on my back is not the same as walking in the hot Georgia sun with 60 lbs. Yesterday's pain has become today's megapain. I'm already getting sunburned, too, so that's no fun. With two Big Ten teams playing in the Sweet 16, I'm hoping to catch some basketball tonight, but I have no idea if I'll be anywhere near a town with a bar or restaurant. Not too worried about it, though. If I can't make it somewhere to see the games, I'll just try to find a good spot to camp before 10:00. --> When walking the American roads, you see a lot of different things on the side of the road--cigarette boxes, roadkill, tools, etc.--but there is one item I notice more than anything else: dental floss on a stick. I see those things everywhere, in every state. Apparently America's collective oral
hygiene habits are better than I thought, but does everyone really need to throw them out the window?

Heading somewhere

Well, I'm outta Savannah. Yesterday at 11:00, after Jay went to work at the Olive Garden, I did a small load of laundry, took a shower, and prepared to leave. I was ready to go at 2:00, but I didn't leave until 2:50. Walked 2.5 miles to Applebee's and waited for Jay to show up for his night shift there. With Jay as my server, I ordered a couple half-price happy-hour apps and chatted with him whenever he was not busy. At 7:00 it was time for me to begin wandering the lonely road once again, so I said goodbye to Jay and walked away from town on Abercorn, which becomes Georgia Rte 204. A little way down 204, a Savannah Police officer stopped and told me I can't walk on 204 because it's a freeway. He then gave me a ride about 5 miles, to US 17, which parallels I-95. From there I walked south 6 miles (through swamp?) and found a spot to sleep. Beautiful walking weather yesterday, during both
daylight and darkness. I walked about 12.5 miles total. The hair almost certainly will be gone soon.

Leaving Savannah

Having visited with Jay for just over a week now, I'll be heading out of Savannah tomorrow (Thursday) to begin Aimless 2008. I've had some fun with Jay and I've met some cool people, but mostly I've felt like a hostage because Jay is out of control. His driving scares the shit out of me sometimes and he pretty much lives for alcohol. (It's way beyond that, but I can't elaborate much from my phone.) If he doesn't make some serious changes in his behavior patterns, the shit is going to hit the fan from about five different angles at the same time. I don't think there's anything I can do, other than write this blog post, to help him. It may be a few weeks before he gets a chance to read this, but I know he will eventually read it. So Jay: It's time to get your shit together, OK. You need to stop drinking. Alcohol is not the solution to your problems; it's the CAUSE of your problems. I
wanted to leave days ago, but I stayed in hopes that my presence would help you. It hasn't helped.

Almost gone

Jay and I will be leaving for Savannah in a couple hours. I imagine I'll be on the road for real in about a week.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Did it!

I did it! I just walked 12 miles in less than 4 hours (3:57), slightly uphill the entire way, carrying 4 lbs more than I had been carrying on previous days (probably about 50 lbs).

Don't ever be stupid enough to do this. Now that I've done it, I'm never going to do it again.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

March Madness

Fuck basketball. I'm going crazy this month with the anticipation of riding freight trains.

In the 8 months since my first and only ride on a freight train, I really haven't had much of an urge to go out and hop another one. But lately that's all I want to do.

I want to ride the Tehachapi Loop. I want to tunnel through mountains. I want to travel on wheels without having to be someone's companion. I want to see how I react next time I get caught by a bull or a cop. I want to figure out how the hell to climb into a boxcar without having someone around to give me a boost. (Those things are 4 or 5 feet off the ground, with no ladders.) I want to meet more hobos. I want to accept a ride to a truly random destination. I want to learn, on my own, how to get around efficiently and illegally via freight trains.

I also want to approach Amtrak conductors at train stations and ask them to let me ride for free.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

The bubble

As an Ohio State fan, if I was on the NCAA tournament selection committee, I would leave out the Buckeyes.

Badger, I've been meaning to say for months that you are by far the coolest poster on "those boards." (By the way, if my home team doesn't make the tourney, go Badgers. Shit, dude, I rooted for Wiscy vs. UNLV last year even though I went to UNLV. I bet Jeff did, too. So did you, Jeff?)

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Maneless Aimless?

I've been seriously considering shaving my head before I leave Jay's place in Savannah. That would be a good time to do it because my face and scalp will still be the same color. (If I wait a month, my scalp will still be 100 percent honkey white, but my face will be brown or purple.) Having no hair would make it much easier to stay clean, too, and I also would not have to constantly lug a pound of sweat in my ponytail.

But I love my hair! Especially since I pulled it back the other night and asked my mom to snip about three inches off the end of the ponytail. I've been wanting to try that for years. It turned out to be a quick, easy, good haircut, which slopes downward toward the front when not pulled back. It's not quite as easy as Hollywood would have you believe, though, like in New Jack City, when Nino's thug quickly snips the mafia guy's ponytail. In reality, it takes at least a dozen small cuts to get through the whole pipe.

I've had long hair for about 12 of the last 15 years.

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I was pretty impressed with my feat of having walked 11 miles in 4 hours and 20 minutes last week, but that turned out to be just a qualifying time once Monday came around. On Monday I walked 12 miles in 4 hours and 18 minutes. I began by walking 4.5 miles, then taking a 20-minute break. After the break, I walked another 4.5 miles and took another 20-minute break before finishing with an additional 3-mile "block."

That's a huge improvement. By consistently walking faster than my target pace of 3 mph, I ended up walking an additional mile. (Oh yeah, I also set the tread mill at a slight upward incline, which I hadn't done previously.)

But yesterday, after running around all over Columbus from 9:30 to 2:30, I tried to one-up Monday's distance and time. At 3:00, I started by walking 7 straight miles--still at an upward incline--before taking a 30-minute break. Walking at least 3.3 mph the entire time, it took about 2 hours and 5 minutes (compared to 2 hours and 20 minutes at my usual pace).

My objective after the break was to walk at least another 5 miles at 3.3 mph or faster. Feeling surprisingly good as I resumed my trek to nowhere, I walked even faster than I'd walked before the break, often keeping the track moving at 3.5 to 3.7 mph. After hitting the 10-mile mark three minutes ahead of the pace I'd set for the first 5 miles, my goal became clear: I wanted to hit 12 miles by 7:00 (4 total hours, including my break). If I could manage to reach the 12-mile mark by 7:00, it would be like I never even took the 30-minute break.

Approaching the end of the 11th mile, my ridiculously fast pace started catching up with me. I was hurting; mostly in the ball of my right foot. In 1990 or 1991, after my second stress fracture of a sesamoid bone in the right foot, I chose to have the small bone surgically excised. Despite having no bone to fracture in 2008, all this walking creates the same sensation I experienced before the excision. If I only had a custom orthotic, I think it would increase my daily mileage capacity by at least a couple miles.

Anyway, I decided to stop at 6:43, having walked 11 miles. I could have made it another mile, but there was no good reason to keep it up. I'm not trying to break any records; I'm just trying to condition myself right now, and I've realized I'm in much better condition than I could have imagined.

So even though I didn't reach my goal of 12 miles in 4 hours, I still walked 11 miles in 3 hours and 43 minutes. In comparison, just a week earlier I was happy with 11 miles in 4 hours and 20 minutes. That's a difference of 37 minutes.

Just a week ago, the bad ligament in my left ankle was giving me a lot of trouble, causing my foot to come down flat after only a couple miles. (For those who don't already know, I badly dislocated my left ankle on December 17, 2006 in Quartzsite, Arizona. I never saw a doctor about it, but I'm pretty sure I suffered a seriously torn ligament and probably some broken bones. This seems to be an injury I'll feel for the remainder of my life.) Anyway, my ankle has seen a dramatic improvement in the last week, probably resulting from strengthened muscles near the tear. That's good.

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Inspired largely by the day I walked out of Springfield, Oregon with an imaginary Smashing Pumpkins' Gish CD playing in my head, I've been listening to various CDs while walking lately. It should come as no surprise that Gish is the first CD I played. I've also listened to other SP CDs--Adore, Mellon Collie disc 1 and disc 2, and part of Siamese Dream--as well as the Rentals, Weezer (blue album), and Radiohead (OK Computer).

It's interesting how music affects me while I walk. Certain songs and albums give me intense energy boosts, and for different reasons. I plan to write more about this phenomenon in more detail soon, but not right now.

I'm curious to see how some other CDs affect me while I walk. If I get a chance, I still want to "test" a few other CDs, including Tool (Undertow and/or Ænema), Iron Maiden's Powerslave, Jane's Addiction (Nothing Shocking and/or Ritual de lo Habitual), the Elevator Drops, and maybe some others (Ben Folds Five?).

Wish I had some Megadeth!!! Oh my god, Megadeth would probably push me to 15 miles in 4 hours. I don't know a lot of Megadeth's stuff, but I know their guitar composition is brilliant. They rock in at least two ways: 1) They just FUCKIN' RAWK!!!; and 2) They rock in the same way Tchaikovsky or Stravinsky or Ludwig van rocks.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Working the road

Anyone remember the passage I quoted from On the Road a couple months ago, about how much work is involved in hitchhiking? In an interview, Wes Modes had a similar response:

1. How long have you been hopping trains? What motivated you to try it for the first time?

Like a lot of kids, I started hopping freight trains because I needed to get around and had no money. In my case, I had hitchhiked around, but it is exhausting. You have to stand by the side of the road for hours vibing people, saying with your smile, "I am not a serial killer, I am not a serial killer."

Then when you get a ride, people expect to entertain or be entertained. You have to stay awake to either talk to the driver or listen to him or her talking. I fall asleep easily in a car as a passenger, so it was always torture. I've met great people hitchhiking, but it was exhausting. Discovering trainhopping was a huge relief. That was in 1992.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Hopping

From Wes Modes:

Freight-hopping. "It's a kick in the ass. It's a lot of fun," Duffy Littlejohn says. "It is one of the last red-blooded American adventures left." He should know--he wrote the book on it. Hopping Freight Trains in America (Sand River Press, 1993) is the definitive freight-hopper's how-to manual.

I need to get a copy of this book.

Man, I have a bunch of stuff to say, but I'm busy doing other things right now. I'm getting really excited about the prospect of hitting the road again soon. Think I'll probably ride some more freight trains, so I just started looking for information that'll help me become a better hobo.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Aimless 2008

Unless something really weird happens, Aimless 2008 will begin in two or three weeks. On March 18th I'll be leaving central Ohio to help my buddy Jay move some stuff from Columbus to Savannah, then I'll probably visit Jay for about a week (or possibly a little longer). Finally, whenever Jay gets sick of me and kicks me out, Aimless 2008 will kick off from Savannah, Georgia.

So where will I go from Savannah?

I don't know. How bout Florida?

Nah, really. I don't care where I go from there. I might go west from Savannah or I might go south (to Florida), then west. All I know is I won't be going north and I can't go east. I figure I'll probably end up going toward Arizona and California, via New Orleans and Texas. Since only Lew had anything to say about my fund-raising idea, I'm just gonna forget about that for now. ("Here ya go, New Orleans: I've managed to raise 23 cents for your rebuilding efforts! Use it wisely.")

---

I walked 11 miles in 4 hours and 20 minutes yesterday, hitting the 8.5-mile mark in just over three hours. 8.5 miles is a relevant figure because that's the same distance I walked on each of the first two days of Aimless last April. On Day 1 I managed to walk 8.5 miles in five or six hours, but Day 2 was a different story.

Because I didn't physically condition myself before leaving last April, the evening of Day 1 marked the beginning of several days of intense pain. I felt fine for maybe the first five miles on Day 1, but the next 3.5 miles sucked. Then, that night, I slept on uneven railroad ballast. (That wouldn't be so bad now, but I didn't have a sleeping pad then.) My body was not happy with me that night. I was in such pain that I couldn't even roll over.

On Day 2 I got up early and began walking. I walked all day (with a lot of breaks), but I only managed 8.5 miles. More railroad ballast for a mattress that night.

Here's the point: While it took over 12 hours for me to walk 8.5 miles last April 23rd, I did it in only 3 hours yesterday.

Even though I have been very inactive the last five months, having gained at least ten pounds, I'm surprisingly still in pretty good condition. I would have expected all the muscle in my legs to disappear by now, but it's mostly still there.

Getting back to the 11 miles in 4 hours and 20 minutes: That's an insane pace, even for someone in awesome shape. In comparison, on the day I walked 28 miles, I didn't hit the 10-mile mark until 7 hours into the day. That's largely because I didn't think about shooting for 30 miles until several hours into the day. But if I can kick off a long walking day with an 11-mile start in just 4:20, I'll get my 30-mile day. Georgia in April might be a good time to try it.

Having said all that, the first ten miles doesn't mean much. I don't know why, but ten miles is the point where things start getting interesting. Regardless of whether I'm in good shape or bad shape, the feet start hurting about ten miles into a long walk. There's only one way to fight the pain of sore feet--take a long break--but there is no time for long breaks when you're shooting for a 30-mile day.

Which is why I'm so impressed with 11 miles in 4 hours and 20 minutes. If I start walking at 6:00 AM and make it 11 miles by 10:20, I can take a rejuvenating two-hour break and still be on pace to hit 30 miles well before midnight. Then, if I'm able to repeat the feat after the break, I'll be 22 miles down the road at about 4:40 PM, leaving over 7 hours to walk another 8 miles.

I don't care how boring this stuff may be; I'm going to get a 30-mile day before May.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

We can't be this stupid

Is it really possible for a candidate to run on the platforms of change and experience at the same time? Isn't that like saying, "I promise you I'll change"?

I mean, if you're running on a platform of experience, you're saying, "I've put this country where it is today." But if you're running on a platform of change, you're clearly implying that you think the country has been going in the wrong direction. If you add it all together, it's just like saying, "My experience has put this country in the wrong direction."

So which is it, lady? YOU CAN'T BE BOTH!!!

"...but I'll change."

Oh, I hear you. And I'm supposed to believe you?

(Of course, you don't actually have any more experience than the other guy, anyway. But that's a whole different lie.)

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

A long walk

Yesterday I sat and thought. That's all I did. I thought about pizza and Aimless and Missy and probably some other things, too.

You may be wondering, "Who's Missy?"

Missy is figuratively and literally the girl of my dreams. That's all you need to know. (I've mentioned her before; long before I ever hit the road.)

Anyway, I've been really bummed out lately. I need to get out of here, and Aimless has become just about pointless, so I've come up with perhaps a new direction for Aimless: I think I'm going to walk from here all the way to New Orleans, in an attempt to raise money to help Katrina victims.

From what I understand, New Orleans is STILL a freaking wasteland, and that's just not right. This is the United States of America. Almost three years after the hurricane, when people go to New Orleans, they expect to see a reasonably fixed-up city, but it's not fixed up. Not even close.

If I do this... Unlike most charitable organizations, every cent I raise will be used to help Katrina victims. I won't keep any of it for myself. And unlike Aimless, I think people might actually get behind something like this.

So what do you think?

---

Oh yeah, I walked three miles today on a tread mill, carrying my backpack (loaded to about 50 lbs). After a break, I walked another mile without the backpack. Interestingly, I can't comfortably walk any faster without the backpack than I can walk with it; maybe 0.1 MPH faster. (The difference is that I can walk all day without the backpack. With the backpack, I need to rest about half an hour for every hour I walk.) I'm going to get myself in a little better condition before I leave this time (if I ever do actually leave).

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Shit fuck crap

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I have a mild form of Tourette Syndrome.

Donkey balls!

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

One pizza myth (of many)

From some web site:

Step 5. Try spinning the dough in the air. This is certainly not required, but it's a lot of fun! It also helps to make the dough more round, as the centrifugal force causes equal amounts of pressure to be thrown out in all directions, helping the crust to form into a perfectly round shape.

This seems to make sense, but it's not entirely true. Having tossed thousands of dough balls, I can tell you with all certainty that perfectly round [hand-tossed] pizzas emerge only from perfectly round dough balls (unless you use a round template to trim the dough).

If you start with a round dough ball, you end up with a round pizza. But if you start with a square dough ball, you're gonna end up with a mostly square pizza, no matter how many times you toss it.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

February

For approximately exactly the last 21 days, when I've watched hockey games on a certain regional sports channel, I've noticed a series of public service announcements for Black History Month. In these "ads," a black man named Kendall Lewis tells a short story about one of many historically significant black athletes, like Jesse Owens, Jim Brown, or Jackie Robinson. When he finishes telling the short story, a voiceover kindly informs me that "McDonald's is a proud sponsor of Black History Month, celebrating black history 365 days a year."

So I'm sure you'll be airing more of these ads 9 days from now, right, McDonald's? Or maybe you'll be funding a neverending series of books on black history? Yes, that must be it.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Some random stuff

For those of you who thought I'd given up on the pizzeria opportunity a few weeks ago, I hadn't. I gave it another chance. (The only way you would have known is if you'd read the comments to a previous post.) But as I said last night, I'm pretty sure it's all over now.

---

I've recently taken a new direction in my quest to make the perfect pizza. About two weeks ago, I created a naturally leavened starter (usually termed "sourdough" starter). To begin the starter, I simply mixed 4 ounces of water with 4 ounces of flour, adding no yeast or sugar and keeping the mixture covered loosely overnight. The following day I removed all but 4 ounces of the mixture, added another 4 ounces each of water and flour, then stirred the new mixture. Each of the next few days, I removed half of the mixture and added another 4 and 4.

After the first couple days, the mixture became slightly bubbly and had a somewhat "sour" smell (clearly indicating that it had aquired some wild yeast), but it essentially did not rise in the bowl. It behaved that way for a few more days, but on about the fifth or sixth day, it took off (probably because I placed it atop the oven while the oven was hot).

Oh yeah! Now we have some serious fermentation. At this point, the mixture had doubled in volume, contained lots of pretty bubbles, and had a strong smell of alcohol. With this sudden burst of wild yeast activity, I began feeding the starter twice each day. Early in the day I would remove all but 4 ounces of the starter and add 8 ounces of water and 8 ounces of flour. Then, sometime after midnight, I'd do it again.

For about the first week, I'd just dump the part of the mixture I'd removed, but at this point I was ready to start using it. So for about a week, now, I've been using 8 or 12 ounces of starter every time I make pizza dough. Because the starter is always a 1:1 ratio of water and flour (by weight), I know exactly how much water and flour to add whenever I make a new batch of dough. For example: If I begin with 12 ounces of starter, I need to add another 10 ounces of flour and another 3 ounces of water for a moderately soft dough. But if I begin with only 8 ounces of starter, I need to add an additional 2 ounces of both flour and water (12 ounces of flour and 5 ounces of water). Regardless of how much starter I use, I'll almost always add 1-1/4 tsp of salt.

There are two reasons why this process is so easy: 1) Every batch of dough I make is based on 1 pound (or 16 oz.) of flour; and 2) I forgot the second reason... Measuring ingredients by weight (rather than volume) makes everything 100 times easier and more consistent. (The only reason I measure salt by volume is because I don't use enough salt to get an accurate measurement of weight. If I was making a pizzeria-size batch, I would measure everything by weight.)

Now that I'm using this starter to leaven my pizza dough, my dough consists of only three ingredients: flour, water, and salt. No yeast, no sugar, no oil.

Is that cool or what? (If you're not sure: Yes, it is cool.)

Now that my starter is thriving, I keep it in the fridge (rather than on the counter). By keeping my starter in the fridge, I don't have to feed it every day (because cool temperatures retard fermentation). Instead, I only need to feed the starter once a week. However, because I make a new batch of dough every two or three days, naturally I feed it about every three days.

You should try it.

---

Well, I was going to mention a couple other things here (like what you asked about, Jeff), but I think I'll just call it a day for now.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

All things stupid

Yeah, uh, it looks like the pizzeria opportunity is no more. And I'll tell ya what: I don't care. In fact, it was me who ended the talks, sorta. I really wanted to work something out, but someone's girlfriend was unwilling to make a really small concession that would have made the rest of her life a lot easier.

Like "Someone's Girlfriend," 90 percent of small business owners base their business decisions on hope and faith. (The other ten percent actually succeed.) There are a lot of people out there who fancy themselves as businesspeople, yet don't know the first thing about business. It's funny, sad, and disappointing all at the same time. Unlike most small business owners, I'm not stupid enough to accept a deal that puts me in a no-win situation.

So it looks like I'll be hitting the road again soon, but not for at least a few weeks because I have over ten pounds of Grande mozzarella in the fridge right now that I'm not going to waste or freeze. Whenever I do leave again, I don't know if it will be Aimless or if it will just be my personal, private escape from all things stupid.

Aimless is the one thing on this planet that's all mine, and I might just keep it that way.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Regarding Florida

"John Doe" from Florida e-mailed me this morning with the following message:

i'd just wanted to say that i graduated from a florida high school and the people that were useless, alcoholic, slackers with no morals whatsoever, never attempted anything in their life, are the ones who are the police officers. i dont know how this happened. the police system in florida is terrible, racist, and overall not kosher. i'm sorry you had to deal with that and hope that your later travels to florida aren't so terrible. there are some good people...i promise! (just avoid confederate flag bumper stickers)

"John" did not include his e-mail address on the contact form, so I decided to respond here.

John,

I know there are lots of good people in Florida. I just had a frustratingly tough time while I was there. I'm glad you realize I have not judged all Floridians based on the actions of a few.

There is a lot more I want to say here, but I can't seem to spit it out right now. Thanks for your feedback.

Ryan

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

Jersey boy

If things work out right, I'm going to hang out tonight with someone I met on the road last summer. I've mentioned Jason Stanish at least once before on this blog, and I also uploaded a [bad] picture of him shortly after I met him in early July at the Madison, Wisconsin TA. As a company driver, he couldn't give me a ride, but he did let me sleep in his top bunk (even though he's not allowed to do that, either).

Anyway, Jason called me a little after noon today from somewhere north of Atlanta. He's bringing a load to Columbus and should be here sometime this evening, as long as he's able to stay legal. (I figure he's probably at about the Tennessee-Kentucky state line right now.) The cool thing is that his company has a terminal right down the street from what used to be my longtime hangout bar/restaurant. (I rarely hang out or drink anymore.) It's about a 15-minute drive for me.

If he makes it all the way to Columbus, I'll probably invite Jason to stay at the house tonight. I want to make him a pizza, partly because I've been making the most incredible pizzas lately but also because I'd love to hear what New Jersey taste buds have to say about my pizza. (Like New York, there is good pizza in New Jersey, so Jason might have some useful feedback about my pizza.)

In case you're wondering: Yes, Jason does think I'm an ungrateful piece of shit.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence

New York state of mind

Here are a couple reasons why I love New York City: 1) New Yorkers actually walk, read, and think; 2) The major pizza chains have been almost completely unable to set up shop in Metropolis.

So why are the Big 3 pizza chains so invisible in NYC? Because New Yorkers aren't mindless consumers. (Remember, they read and think.) Most New Yorkers can't even comprehend how the rest of the country bears to swallow Pizza Hut, Domino's, and Papa John's.

Oh, so New Yorkers are stupid because they can't comprehend anything, right?

No way. If you can't figure out why chain pizza blows, maybe you should schedule a trip to New York. It's the only place I'll actually pay for pizza.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Thooper!

Wow, what a game!

I've been kinda rooting for the Giants during the playoffs, mostly because they played the Patriots so close in Game 16 after the Patriots destroyed everyone else on their schedule. And with Tom Brady's arrogant response to Plaxico Burress's prediction several days ago, I couldn't help but root for the Giants tonight, too. (Yeah, Brady, the Giants had no chance to hold you to only 17 points, did they? Yet they only scored 17 points and still beat you. Ha Ha.)

Way to go, Giants. Great game.

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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Nightmares

A few nights ago my buddy Jeff called me. As we talked about food and restaurants, he mentioned a BBC show called Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. The title sounded familiar to me, but I had no idea what the show was about.

After Jeff described Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares to me, it reminded me of a show I used to watch on Food Network called Restaurant Makeover. Here are the basic premises of Restaurant Makeover:

1. Independent restaurateur realizes he or she is in deep shit, so he or she contacts Restaurant Makeover, begging for help.
2. Restaurant Makeover sends a chef and a designer to the failing restaurant (along with a camera crew) to assess the situation.
3. Following assessment and consultation, the restaurateur decides how much money he or she is willing to invest in the makeover, then Restaurant Makeover matches the owner's investment up to a maximum of something like $20,000. (If the owner contributes $15,000 to the project, then Restaurant Makeover puts in another $15,000. But if the owner contributes $30,000, Restaurant Makeover tops out at $20,000. Something like that, anyway.)

Yeah, Food Network used to not suck.

Anyway, since Jeff told me about Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, I've managed to catch four episodes, and I love it! The premise of Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is as follows: You and your restaurant are in deep shit, so you called me, Gordon Ramsay, a proven successful chef and businessman, to come here and work my magic because you realize that 1) You're losing your ass, and 2) I know how to save your ass.

Although it is kind of similar to Restaurant Makeover, it has plenty of differences. First of all, it's an hour long (rather than half an hour). Second, the star (Chef Gordon Ramsay) is a filthy-mouthed, no-bullshit motherfucker. Sometimes his communication style is a little too, um, let's say, uh, sometimes he's a real asshole for no apparent reason. But mostly he's honest, straightforward, and reasonable. He's there to fix a problem, and fixing that problem is his only objective.

In every episode I've seen so far, Gordon Ramsay proves that independent restaurant owners tend to be the stupidest people on this planet. Everything he says makes complete sense, but even though the owners know they're doing something horribly wrong--even though they're about to lose everything--most of the owners become combative and refuse to follow Gordon's advice. Some of the owners eventually overpower their huge egos enough to follow Gordon's advice, but some of them don't.

And you know what ultimately happens to each group, respectively? Yup, the listeners win and the non-listeners lose.

I tried doing something kind of like what Gordon Ramsay does. I've offered my services to several failing pizzerias, essentially for free, in an effort to help them turn their huge failure into success, partly because I like helping people and partly because it was an opportunity for me to prove that my skills, talents, and intellect are pretty freakin' valuable.

As you may already know, I never got shit from it, nor did I ever get a chance to prove anything about myself. All I got was ripped off.

For example, when I went to Charleston, South Carolina, thinking I'd finally found the right opportunity, I quickly learned that I was dealing with the two stupidest people alive. (I can only blame myself for failing to recognize this side of their personalities before heading to SC.) After busting my ass for them, usually off the clock, and sharing very valuable ideas with them, all they did was attack me. Like Gordon Ramsay, I cared more about their restaurant than they did. Even though I made it very clear from the beginning that my objective was to fix things that needed fixed, they apparently expected me to perpetuate a process that generates $200 a day in sales.

Some people just don't get it. $200 a day is not good. $200 a day barely pays for the cost of sales. Forget about paying for labor and utilities and all that other stuff (like the elusive "owner's salary"). You simply can't do it.

If you only bring in $200 a day, it's because you're doing something VERY wrong. If you want that to change, you must stop doing things wrong and start doing things right. If you can't figure out what you're doing wrong but you are lucky enough to find someone who can figure it out, don't fuck that person over.

I didn't fail Sonny's Pizza. Sonny's Pizza failed themselves. When you refuse to allow people to help you, you cannot be helped. I learned from it; they didn't.

Sonny's Pizza no longer exists. (I never got paid for my time on the clock, either.)

(Oh, I'm just dying to find out how and why this post makes me ungrateful and negative. So hit me, anonymouses.)

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

So much for that "opportunity"

Well, I don't see the pizzeria thing happening. I most certainly want to do it, but apparently my only location option would be the second floor, above the bar/club.

A second-floor location may not seem like a big deal to you, but it's a killer. First of all, it would add at least two minutes to every delivery run that leaves the building (round trip). That is, every time a driver leaves the building, he would be slowed down by the elevator on his way out, then again on his way back into the store.

Oh, two minutes is nothing, you may be thinking.

Wrong!

Under those circumstances, if one driver leaves the building ten times during a shift, that adds up to a minimum of 20 completely nonproductive minutes from EVERY DRIVER during EVERY SHIFT. There's nothing I can do to fix that. NOTHING! So to make up for that inefficiency, I'd often have to schedule an extra driver, which comes out of my paycheck.

Meanwhile, after each night's shift, every driver thinks to himself: "Man, if I didn't have to jump all those hurdles between the kitchen and my car, I could have left the building at least one more time tonight, delivering 2 or 3 additional orders, which would have added another $5 or $10 to my pocket with no extra effort. Hell, even if I was making that extra $5 or $10, I'm still totally sick of jumping through all the hoops... Hmmm... I wouldn't have to deal with these constant obstacles if I worked at Pizza Hut or Papa John's... Sorry dude, I gotta quit."

So if I want to keep my drivers, I need to pay them better, even though I'd probably already be paying them better than my competition pays their drivers.

Where does that money come from? It comes from my paycheck.

Quick recap: Having a location on the second floor forces me to schedule more labor than I should need, and it also forces me to pay all my drivers unusually high wages.

So what about the customers?

There most certainly will be times when the "second-floor slowdown" causes delivery orders to arrive ONE MINUTE later than what the customer considers acceptable. And every time that happens, there are two possible outcomes: 1) I lose a customer, or 2) I make a huge sacrifice to keep that customer happy. In that circumstance, I'd probably be more inclined to chop off a big chunk of the price, but if necessary, I'd make it a freebie.

My response to that situation may save a customer, but it still costs me money that I shouldn't have to give up. And I can't blame my driver or anyone else. The only person I can blame is myself because I made the choice to open a pizzeria in the stupidest possible location.

And that is just one of many money-munching setbacks I'll have to deal with every single day if I choose to open a pizzeria on the second floor of this building.

---

The bar owner wants to include "southern-style" cuisine to accompany the alcohol and live music (music on weekends, anyway). However, to the best of my knowledge, he knows as much as I know about southern-style food: Nothing.

So how do you serve southern-style food if you don't know anything about southern-style food? And do beer-drinking, live-blues-music-listening customers even want southern-style food? I'd say probably not. It's not a restaurant with a bar; it's a live music club with a kitchen.

If I knew anything about southern-style food, I'd love to help him in that department, but I don't know shit about southern-style food. I am simply not the right guy for that, nor do I expect him to find "the right guy" for that. However, I am one of very few people who really understands what it takes to operate a successful independent pizzeria. No bullshit. Not just a successful pizzeria, but the most successful pizzeria. The kind of pizzeria that will bring people into his bar to buy beer, which is especially relevant if live music and sports fail to do it alone.

I'm pretty sure I could operate a profitable pizzeria on the second floor of this place, but I would be absolutely stupid to even try. Regardless of location, I'm already prepared to bust my ass at least 80 hours a week in "my" pizzeria. But if I was on the second floor of this building (or any other building), that 80-hour workweek instantly becomes 100, probably more. That's an absolute waste of money and energy, and I won't do it.

Ah, but my dad thinks this is the right opportunity. No, dad, it could be the right opportunity, given the right circumstances, but it is absolutely not the right opportunity with the current circumstances.

Y'see, Dad, you already walked away from the right opportunity two years ago. And if I change my mind and decide I want to open something on the second floor this time (which would be totally retarded), you'll end up walking away from this one, too.

I'm never going to be able to do what I can do better than almost everyone.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

You make the call

I have a very important question for everyone: When you hear the term "southern-style food," what comes to your mind? --> What kinds of entrees and sides? How is the food seasoned? Whatever you can think of. Just tell me what "southern-style food" is to you.

Thanks.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Cock rock

As I drove to and from Germantown (near Dayton) yesterday, I heard a couple songs on the radio that really caught my attention. The first one stood out for a few reasons. However, having just looked up the song's lyrics, I've concluded I must have misinterpreted it when I heard it, so I'll say nothing more about it here.

(Wow, you missed a great inaccurate critique.)

The other song played as I passed through downtown Dayton on the way home. It's a song I've probably heard at least a few times before, but for some reason it really stuck out this time.

It was a Nickelback song. It went something like this:

Boy I shor do like havin my cock sucked
Oh yeah I shor do like havin my cock sucked, baby
I want the world to know I shor do like havin my cock SAAAHHCKED,
YEAH YEAH YEAH

And I'll tell y'all right now in this fake-ass deep voice
That I'm a man, yeah, I'm a MAAAAAY-AAAAAAAWN
And I'll have you know that I don't put no cocks in my mouth
I ain't no closet homo, BAY-BAAAAAAH
No, I get MY cocked sucked, yeah yeah yeah
By women, yeah yeah yeah

Suck my cock, oh yeah, suck my cock,
Cuz I do love it when you, who are female, suck my cock

(Repeat and fade)

When that song was over, they played another Nickelback song. I swear it was the same freak-uckin' song, except it didn't sound exactly the same and about three of the words were different. The second song went something like: "I like your pants around your feet and I'm certainly not a queer and don't you EVER try to imply that I take it up the ass ever again cuz I'm Nickelback, BAY-BAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!"

Do people actually buy this stuff?!? Obviously they buy the albums, but do they buy into the ridiculous tough-guy crap?

Is our society really this stupid?

This is a perfect example of why Idiocracy is one of the most brilliant movies ever made. If you have not seen Idiocracy, go rent it now or come over to my house because I recorded it on the new DVR a couple nights ago.

How old are you, Nickelback? My guess is 12.

Guess what, Nickelback. Pretty much all men enjoy having their cocks sucked by women. However, most of us don't have to tell the world over and over and over just how frequently we think about pussy. In case you missed the article in the Penthouse you stole from your dad's drawer (to make him believe you're into chicks), it's been pretty well established that heterosexual men think about pussy non-stop, OK. You're not special. Constantly thinking about pussy is what keeps our species alive.

In fact, I think about pussy so much, it has taken me 15 hours to write this post. But that's the last you'll hear me talk about how frequently I think about pussy (which I do all the time, by the way) because I don't need to prove to myself or anyone else that I'm a man.

Right?

I'm gonna shut up now because I have to think about pussy for a while.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Correspondence, Part II

Aimless Web Site Visitor wrote:

Thank You for taking the time to answer my questions. I would like to do something similar to what you have done in the past, with a few minor variations. One is use of a bike for greater mobility. This would allow me to use country roads versus interstates. Another problem I want to avoid is police encounter. It only takes one cop with an attitude to destroy your dreams. You were very lucky in Naples. Could you imagine what would happen if you were arrested for beating that person?

With my military background, I know how to survive off the land. Going hungry is not a big concern. I do not have a drug or drinking problem, so my dependency on town support is reduced. I just want my freedom. Without our freedom, we become puppets of the government.

How often did you take showers or a bath? Where did you take them? Keeping clean is a big concern of mine. I do not want to stand out in a crowd because of my appearance. What are your plans in the future? Are you going to hit the road or go to work with your relatives?

Again Thank You for your response. Hope to hear from you in the near future.

Aimless Web Site Visitor

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And I replied:

That's cool, man. It sounds like you're planning to hit the road with essentially no money and no access to money. Does that sound right? I think that's the way to do it, even if you have plenty of money in the bank. My travels just wouldn't have been the same if I had hit the road with a big wad of cash and a credit card. In fact, I think it would have been mostly stupid, boring, and pointless.

Apparently you watched the cop encounter video. It sounds like you, as a viewer, felt like I faced potential danger from those cops. Is that how you saw it? It's hard for me to see it from the perspective of someone who wasn't there, but I never felt like I was in any kind of danger. Those guys were cool, especially the one I joked with. They were just doing their job, making sure I wasn't a perp making a run for it.

I'm squeaky clean, so I never feel like I have anything to worry about with cops. Even on the rare occasions that cops have fucked with me, I haven't felt any kind of real danger. In fact, I've been a total smart-ass with a couple of them because I know my rights and I know their limits. Bad cops only fuck with people they assume are idiots. As soon as they realize they're dealing with someone with a brain, they take off. From a distance, I fit their profile of an easy target: a drug addict or alcoholic or general loser. But when I speak (or reach for my camera), they figure out pretty quickly that they've made a poor assessment of my character, and they take off ASAP. Bad cops prey on easy targets, but they know there will be hell to pay if they fuck with the wrong person.

If there is one thing I want to you remember, it's this: You really don't need to fear cops, man, especially if you are the kind of person I envision. The bike is a big bonus for you, too. It'll give you "cred" with people, just like my decent-quality gear gives me "cred" in certain people's eyes. Even if you're out there "bumming" or tramping, the bike will give you the appearance of legitimacy/respectability. And the articulation of your communication will also protect you from predators (like bad cops) and judgmental assholes in general. Seriously, if you have nothing to hide, you'll have no problem with cops. (Plus you have no reason to hang out beside on-ramps, which seriously decreases the likelihood that you'll deal with cops at all.)

Regarding bathing:

On average I probably showered about once a week. I think the longest I went between showers was 14 days. It's not as horrible as it may sound, though. Y'see, after about a week of constant sweating and rehydration, you will have flushed out all the crap inside you that makes you stink and feel nasty. I smelled horrible after the first four days and I expected to smell horrible pretty much all the time, but after that first week or so, I could go days and days without a shower and I wouldn't stink. No bullshit. I mean, I could be a week beyond my most recent shower and I seriously would not have to worry about stinking up someone's car, because I didn't stink. It kind of freaked me out at first when I stopped stinking.

After my first week on the road, the only real hygiene issue I had was with my hair. (You may have noticed I have a lot of it.) Whenever I hadn't showered for several days, my hair would get kind of greasy and my head would start to itch. Even then, it wasn't very bad. If you have short hair or no hair, it should be very easy to keep yourself presentable.

Also, I keep a nice supply of Wet Ones or other wet wipes in my backpack. I prefer them over sanitizing gel for washing my hands because sanitizing gel leaves a strong, annoying smell. But wet wipes are also an awesome tool for keeping up hygiene when you can't get a shower. It's this simple: If you keep your armpits reasonably fresh, then you've pretty much won the hygiene battle. And you can slay both pits with just one wet wipe.

Eventually, however, you stop caring about petty things like whether or not you feel absolutely fresh. Staying alive and experiencing life is more important. Your perspective on a lot of things will change, I think for the better. You mentioned freedom... When you haven't had a shower in a week and you don't give a shit, that's freedom. One component of freedom, anyway.

To finish answering your question... Oh shit, I'm not sure I can answer it fully. Where did I get my showers? I guess usually I'd get showers when people would invite me into their homes for a night or two. Once I took a "shower" on the beach right beside the Santa Monica Pier. When you're on the road like I was, all you have to do is talk to people. And you really don't even have to do that because they'll initiate conversation with you. Your aura and your gear tells quite a story all by itself, but a lot of people want to know more about your story than they can figure out just by looking at you. So they'll ask you, and they'll listen in awe as you tell them your incredible and unique story. Some of them will ask you if you need money or food. Then, even after you've told them you don't need money or food, they'll slip you a 20 or take you somewhere for a nice meal. Others will damn near force you to stay a night or two in their home.

On the truck stop circuit, showers are easy. Truckers get one free shower for every 50 gallons of fuel they purchase. (I think most truckers burn about 200 gallons every day.) In other words, they all have more showers on their frequent fueler account than they will ever need. I think Flying J's shower system is easier than the other kinds of truck stop because it's all done through a kiosk, out of sight from most of the employees. So if you really need a shower and you see a truck stop (especially a Flying J), just go to the driver lounge and ask a few truckers if they can spare a shower. The exact terminology will vary from truck stop to truck stop. At Flying J, say something like, "By any chance do you have an extra shower on your card?" ("On your card" is the operative phrase with Flying J.) If that doesn't work, it never hurts to ask the people working there. Some of them will happily set you up with a shower.

Truckers, in general, are pretty good guys (although many of them are major assholes). A lot of them will go out of their way to help someone in need. Even the assholes will do nice things for the "right" people. (Let's just say my white skin sometimes equals "cred" at truck stops.) It really bothers me when truckers treat me kindly while at the same time spewing hateful rhetoric about "niggers" and "wetbacks" and whatnot, as if it's understood that I share their views just because I'm white. Well, I don't share their views.

Regarding my future with Aimless: I expected to be gone a day or two ago, but now things are on hold indefinitely. Man, there is nothing I want more than to operate my own pizzeria, but now that such an opportunity may be on the horizon, all I want to do is get back on the road and resume my life as a bum with a camera, even though I know it'll probably never make me any money. I have a lot of thinking to do right now.

Oh yeah, check out this blog. I met James in South Carolina. He passed me on his bike as he pedaled from New Jersey to Cape Canaveral. We talked a while, then he let me stay in his motel room that night. James is an awesome guy. I can't find his e-mail address right now, but I'm sure I have it somewhere, in case you want to contact him. He'd probably be glad to share some of his insight with you, regarding touring the country on a bike.

One more thing to consider: My lack of mobility often created the best moments of my six months on the road. When you're walking instead of driving (or biking), you see everything and you have a chance to take it all in. Like when I walked up the Pacific Coast Highway from Venice to Ventura. During that walk I witnessed my first and only live rattlesnake in the wild, only because I heard it moving. I most certainly would not have seen the snake if I'd been driving, and I probably would not have seen it if I'd been on a bike. The scenery, too. There's just so much sensory information to experience in places like the PCH. I'm just saying you might want to think about finding a place to store your bike every once in while, then hoofing it a little.

(Jeez, you're helping me write a book here. Rock on!)

Ryan

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Correspondence

Yesterday I received an Aimless-related e-mail from a guy named "Aimless Web Site Visitor." A simple message, he asked, "How many police encounters did you have? Could you have avoided them? How did you survive?"

I wrote a reasonably long response to Aimless Web Site Visitor last night and received a response from him this morning, to which I recently provided another long response. After thinking about it for a minute, I figured my responses to Aimless Web Site Visitor might be interesting to a few other people out there, so here is my response to Aimless Web Site Visitor's original message:

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Hi Aimless Web Site Visitor,

First off, I want to thank you for showing interest in Aimless. I've put an unbelieveable amount of work into it so far, so I really appreciate when people take the time to ask questions or just comment about things.

To answer your questions:

I've had LOTS and LOTS of police encounters. I really have no idea how many, but I'd guess at least 100; probably more. Don't get the wrong idea, though; they are almost always very cool with me.

Most of the encounters occur beside on-ramps, when I'm trying to get a ride on an interstate. Sometimes cops will stop just to check out what I'm doing and to make sure I'm not running from the law or anything. Other times they stop to tell me I can't be beyond the 'No Pedestrians' sign. Every once in a LONG while, though, a cop will harass me (or "fuck with" me), probably to demonstrate his perceived power over someone he assumes is a worthless bum. But that almost never happens.

Probably the second most common type of encounter occurs in the mornings, when the sun is up and so is my tent. Early on in my travels, whenever I couldn't find a nice hidden spot to set up camp, I'd find spots where I was pretty much invisible at night but very visible in the morning. To avoid any trouble, I would force myself to get up very early and be gone before anyone had a chance to see me. After a while, though, I realized whenever someone spotted my tent in the morning, the worst thing that happened is a cop would show up and respectfully tell me to scram. Consequently, I stopped forcing myself to get up at 6:00. After I stopped worrying about it, I found that usually no one bothers me, anyway, even if I am somewhere really obvious. A few times the cops have shown up outside my tent, asked me what I was doing there, and ended up telling me I didn't have to leave.

Again, almost all cops are very cool to me. I have nothing to hide from them, and I think they tend to figure that out pretty quickly. But most of them drive right past me, anyway.

I suppose I could have avoided cops by staying away from interstate on-ramps. But usually when I choose to hitchhike by an on-ramp, it's because I don't have any other options. Whenever I'm trying to get somewhere specific and distant, I prefer to walk along the road that goes there. In those cases, usually someone will stop and offer a ride before too long. But sometimes the only road available is an interstate, so I just have to stand and wait.

Also, I have never put up my thumb to indicate I am hitchhiking. I like to think my objective is usually pretty obvious. Plus, as I learned from a Lake Mary Police officer: If my thumb is not up, the law says I'm not hitchhiking. So I can stand right beside a 'No Hitchhiking' sign and do my thing for as long as I want. They could probably get me for loitering or something, but most cops realize there's really no point.

How did I survive? I'm guessing you mean in terms of money, right?

I never ask people for money (or anything else, for that matter). But there are some really awesome, caring people out there. Usually whenever I'm out of money and food, it somehow comes to me. Some people slip me bills because they think what I'm doing is cool. Others seem to sense when I'm in need. Sometimes I go hungry for a few days. That kind of drought is rare, but it happens.

Also, there have been a couple times when I was able to work for some cash. In Florida I helped someone paint a house. And I helped a trucker unload his truck in Phoenix and LA. I have no problem working to make some cash when I'm on the road, but the opportunity rarely presents itself. (Actually, it would probably be pretty easy for me to get work lumping for truckers, but usually when I'm with truckers it's because I'm trying to get a long way in a short time.)

There have been a couple occasions when I have flown signs saying something to the effect of: "Please help a hungry traveler get some food." Yeah, I know I just said I never ask for money, and it's almost entirely true. Even though I know people will help if you only ask, it's very hard for me to beg. However, when you haven't eaten for a couple days, something motivates you to find a piece of cardboard and beg beg beg, no matter how uncomfortable it seems.

Hey, I hope that answers your questions. I could probably elaborate on some of it. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask.

Thanks again,
Ryan

---

I'll post his response and my response to his response later or tomorrow.

By the way, I met with Mike last night about the pizza stuff. Mike's a good guy; a no-bullshit kind of guy. He already owns the building and has some pretty clear plans for his bar. I'd say the prognosis looks good, but damn I wish I could just postpone my involvement until next fall (instead of, say, right now). I really want to hit the road right now, just to be on the road. I really miss being on the road, even the constant hunger and other shitty parts of it.

Well, we'll see how it goes.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

One pretty goal

If you have not seen the goal Rick Nash scored Thursday night in Phoenix, you really need to watch the video below. It's way better on an HD TV, but this tiny clip is pretty good, too.

Context: The Blue Jackets led 3-2 with a little over 2 minutes remaining in the 3rd period when Nash went to the penalty box for high-sticking. In a do-or-die situation, Phoenix pulled the goalie to create a 6 on 4, then scored with about 1:30 remaining, tying the game at 3-3. As the clock wound down under a minute, it appeared that overtime was imminent. But with 30 seconds left in the period, Nash caused Phoenix to make an errant pass and...



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Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Wolf-crying ping pong ball

That's me. I'm a wolf-crying ping pong ball. Something like that, anyway. Let me explain.

Monday night my dad gave me 24 hours to get the fuck out of his house, which I obviously disregarded...

[Non-sequitur moment coming up. Now flash forward to this morning.]

This morning, with me only hours from hitting the road forever, sans parental goodbye, I found a printout of an e-mail placed strategically atop my toilet. It said something about my uncle's buddy Mike and how he's going to open a bar/restaurant in Dayton. It also said something about pizza and me, but I didn't read it for any longer than it took me to piss.

So I go downstairs and drink a glass of water. My dad, who I've mostly avoided since Christmas, asks me if I'd read the printed e-mail. In a move that surprised me, I actually answered him, instead of just going to another room without a word.

I answered, "No," and quickly went to another room.

A moment later he came into the living room and started telling me about how he and Mom have been considering teaming up with my uncle's friend Mike, and that this might be my chance to enter the pizza business.

I didn't want to hear it. I've heard it all before. So many times they have built me up and made me believe they're my serious allies. Each time, believing they're serious about it, I've proceded to put my heart and soul into writing business plans and marketing plans, designing logos, creating accurate financial statement projections, and doing all the things you need to do when planning to open a SUCCESSFUL pizzeria. (A few of them actually exist.) But every time it gets to the point where they have to make a serious decision, they've always ended up chicken-shitting out. Basically it's been like them crying 'Wolf.'

Now, I love roller coasters, but I don't like this roller coaster kind of life. I don't like being a fucking ping pong ball.

I no longer trust my parents. Whenever they cry 'Wolf' now, I don't believe them; I ignore them.

Is the wolf really there this time? I don't know. It sounds like this might be a good opportunity, but so did all the other opportunities, at least until my parents just walked away from them, leaving me with metaphoric blue balls each time.

Anyway, I don't like the timing of this. I wanted leave right freaking now, but I don't want to just walk away from what MIGHT be the best opportunity I've ever had to begin a real life.

I have a lot of thinking to do right now.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Did ya catch it?

I suspect some readers may be unaware that I uploaded a new video the other day, mostly because the newest video's title is very similar to the previous video's title. Just wanted to let you know, in case you didn't catch it. Also, for those of you who cannot watch QuickTime movies, all Aimless videos (except the blog exclusive, which I just remembered) are now on YouTube. (My YouTube profile.)

I've only been able to watch a couple of the YouTube videos so far, so I don't know if they all survived YouTube's processing. From what I've seen, though, they appear to be in decent shape. Still, I prefer that people watch the QuickTime movies, if possible.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

Word explosion

---

Attention: Before reading this post, read this post, unless you have already read it. In that case, do whatever you want.

---

OK, now that you've read the other post, let me continue...

Direction for the Aimless One
I had an idea today. (Actually I had lots of ideas today.)

I would like to offer my services to people who need to transport automobiles to various parts of the United States. It could be a good way for me to make some money (which I desperately need just so I can get some of the most basic gear and clothing). Also, it could help keep this Aimless thing fresh by constantly changing the scenery. To the best of my knowledge, most of the prospective clients would be snowbirds moving to and from warm climates.

If you're thinking, "Yeah, right. No one pays people to relocate their car from one region to another," stop thinking that. I've met people who do it for a living and I've met people who have done it as a one-time thing. For example, the girl who gave me a ride from Eugene to Bend decided to stay in Oregon after driving someone else's car to the Pacific Northwest from the east coast.

Anyway, the opportunity exists, especially with the snowbirds heading back home in the coming months. It could be a really great opportunity for me. Here's why:

1. I am a very safe driver with a very good driving record;
2. My schedule is totally flexible;
3. As things stand right now, I NEVER need to be anywhere specific, so the cars' owners would usually not have to pay the costs of getting me to the pick-up point and back home from the delivery point;
4. I could offer to do it for a lot less money than the people who do it for a living, yet it would still be like hitting the jackpot for the Aimless version of me.

There are probably some other good reasons, but I'm too sleep deprived to think of them right now.

The problem is: I don't have time right now to put out the word. So I ask for your help. If anyone can put out the word for me, I'd happily pay you a percentage of what I make from jobs you get me. My immediate thought would be something in the neighborhood of 25%, but I haven't given it any real thought yet.

Basically all I'm hoping is that someone will post ads for me on specific web sites--like Craig's List, I guess--where car owners might look to find vehicle transporters. I just can't do it myself right now. I wouldn't even know where to start.

I don't really expect anything to materialize from this idea, but it would certainly be awesome if y'all could help me try.

---

On the Road
My brother and his wife gave me a copy of On the Road for Christmas. I've already tried reading that book a couple times over the last fifteen years, but each time I couldn't make it past about halfway through because it just became boring. Doesn't sound right, does it: Aimless Ryan bored by On the Road? It should be one of the major inspirations for something like Aimless, right?

Well, not so. Not even a bit.

Anyway, I decided to start reading my new copy today at Dino's in Yellow Springs, and some things stood out. (Did I catch ya with the 'Yellow Springs,' Jafabrit?) These things stood out to Aimless Ryan, but never would have stood out to 1995 Ryan.

Early in the book, only a few days into the protagonist Sal's hitchhiking career, he gets a ride with a trucker. He describes the driver: "...a great big tough truckdriver with popping eyes and a hoarse raspy voice who just slammed and kicked at everything and got his rig under way and paid hardly any attention to me."

But it was what he says next that really caught my attention.

So I could rest my tired soul a little, for one of the biggest troubles hitchhiking is having to talk to innumerable people, make them feel that they didn't make a mistake picking you up, even entertain them almost, all of which is a great strain when you're going all the way and don't plan to sleep in hotels.

Immediately after reading that passage, I had a huge grin on my face. See, you just cannot possibly understand what those words really mean unless you've been there and done that. (It's like that when someone invites you into their home, too.) This does not mean either Jack Kerouac or myself has ever been the slightest bit ungrateful or unappreciative when someone offered a ride. I'm just saying hitchhiking requires an intense amount of labor; physical labor and unrelenting mental labor. You rarely get a chance to turn your brain's master knob to anything below 11.

So after several seconds of grinning big, my eyes welled up a little and I got back to the book.

Not long after his ride with the trucker, Sal got another ride.

"Where you going?"
"Denver."
"Well, I can take you a hundred miles up the line."
"Grand, grand, you saved my life."
"I used to hitchhike myself, that's why I always pick up a fellow."

Now, that is probably the one thing I hear most frequently from people who pick me up because hitchhiking changes you. It frees your mind in many ways. I haven't had an opportunity to pick anyone up yet, but it most certainly will happen.

This sentence also stuck out to me: "[He was] a traveling epic Hassel, crossing and recrossing the country every year, south in the winter and north in the summer, and only because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars, generally the Western stars."

There are some other things I'd like to mention here, but I'm freakin' tired. I have to get up early, too. I hope my stuff comes tomorrow because I really want to get the hell out of here. There's nowhere to go but everywhere.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.

The boy who cried 'Wolf'

I want to apologize for what may have seemed like another punk-ass bitch move on my part.

Yeah, I know you're sick of reading every couple months that I'm quitting. Some of you probably think I'm a little brat who throws a fit every time things don't go my way. And maybe you're right.

Please allow me to explain my recent outburst:

It had nothing to do with Aimless or the apparently universal lack of interest in Aimless. It had nothing to do with you, the readers of this blog. Mostly it had to do with the fact that my parents have always treated me like I'm the stupidest motherfucker on the planet, coupled with the realization that they will always see me that way, regardless of what I accomplish.

Fuck them for that. I will not apologize for how I feel about them. I'm just sorry I have to feel that way. No one should have to feel that way about their parents.

This is not a sob story; I'm not crying about it. It's simply a matter of fact. It pisses me off that my parents have fucked with my head my entire life, and sometimes that anger builds to the point where I can't help but release it, perhaps inappropriately.

If that bothers you, I hope you'll accept my apology. I'll try to keep that kind of stuff to myself in the future. (But don't count on it.)

---

Regarding the future of Aimless:

I will be back on the road within a couple days because 1) I'm no longer welcome here, and 2) I don't care if I ever see my parents again. (The only reason I'm still here is because I'm awaiting the shipment of a sleeping bag.)

HOWEVER, I still don't know if I'll bother taking a camcorder this time, nor am I sure if I'll take my phone. I'm starting to think I probably will take them, but I may choose not to. I don't know. And even if I do take the phone, my service may be discontinued next week anyway.

This isn't about appealing to people's emotions; it's about learning how to stay alive out there for real. (Not to suggest that it wasn't real before.) From now on, there won't be a home for me to go back to whenever I need to recover. There will only be more trying to stay alive.

All this stuff presents some questions I need to answer really damn quickly: 1) Should I complicate things further by taking a camcorder, which would demand tons of extra energy to gather footage for a movie that will probably never exist? 2) If so, what the hell am I supposed to do with the eventual accumulation of tapes?

I want to continue Aimless with 100% effort, but if I keep trying to do it all by myself, especially considering the new circumstances, I'll be dead within months. Maybe I'm better off that way.

--
Aimless
Aimless Video Evidence
You can contact me at 614-738-3867.