I came to this region on a train from Los Angeles. I usually travel by bus if my car can't make the trip. Buses are crowded and smelly and sad. Buses are expensive, slow, and sad. My car is awesome.
I've never been to this part of the country and the views afforded by the train were spectacular. There were even a few volunteers from The National Forestry Service that came on board to talk about the history of the region and answer a few questions. We had some nice talks.
I'm never taking the train again. The time and expense were bad enough, but the lack of wi-fi was the nail in the coffin. Been there, done that.
I got dropped off in a the big, headlining city. As a country boy who grew up in the woods of The Big Thicket and the flatlands of Louisiana, a city--a full-on city--built in a hilly environment is the dumbest fucking thing I've ever seen. I try to be vague about my location, but I literally lost count of the Starbucks after about six blocks.
I spent the rest of that day and another in town, looking for work. Without luck.
I didn't matter anyway. It had been a long time since I'd had any hope of finding a job. I'd given up believing that anyone wanted me to be a part of your society. I had a plan.
At the end of the second day, I closed my phone account, closed my bank account, had a few drinks at a nice local gay karaoke bar, and spent my last night the hostel.
Come dawn, I picked up a few supplies, realized I'd lost my backpack at the bar, and caught a late ferry towards what I thought was my very final destination.
A few country buses later and I'm at the very first RoboHoboHomo blog, checking in at Purgatory Shelter.
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