Traverse City, MI

A few days of rehabilitation in a sun soaked town of Traverse City, right on the bay of lake Michigan, drinks and conversations of phone service in the outoftowner residence of Shea's parental units.

An excerpt from chapter three:
"Pulling into Williston a stop at a closed gas station and hardware store follows a brief layover at a bakery outlet's dumpster where oodles of donuts and rolls and other bread products brim the circular dumpster. At the service station they rinse their bike components and panniers, but allowing their clothes to retain mud covered memories. At the local grocer, approached by a couple- amy and charles, who offer a shower to the dirt ridden cowboys- with no backstory required. Again the beauty of humanity shines through. After marching around the large super market, bulging with summer sausage and energy bars, bulk foods and beef- they saunter to an apartment building and up smoke stained stairs to a modestly decorated homestead where internet access is provided, a shower with waterss raining from heaven, purified water and a bowl of ice cream complete with artificial chocolate topping. A ninety year old living by herself driving into town, trips to indonesia in the near future and work in group homes. Refreshed relishing on the appeasing nature of the canadian hosts. Of to set up camp in the city park which seems to be a bustling center of town.

Mealtime shared- ground beef and beans, a real cowboy roadhouse chili made on the spot. Sips of whisky flask and wine sips from rolled appendages. Life is real and now, happening and unfolding before Estes's once unsure psyche. Glittering skylines vast above uneasy households, begging for more of what makes the world go round, while others bask in the excess of americana.

A deep sleep in cacoon spreading and stretching to the light of new days. Fuel to be seeked out, but not before youthful boys extend endless curiosity of the journey. Estes plays the banjo for the young chaps. They want more. More answers, more entertainment, more life, more art. All on in the same a sampling of purity neglected from drab simple caring lives of western North Dakota. They ride on small bmxs through the concrete park that accompanies lush green lawn, ampitheatre, and locked bathrooms. Estes is forced to the ajacent corner store for his morning movement, where he is given a cup of cheap watery coffee for free. The boys heckle Estes and he evenually must blow them off and head out and exit the welcoming town. To stay on highway two or to extend to 1408. The first is decided on with the intent of camp fuel and free cook pot from walmart. Everything goes off without a hitch, exiting through the garedn section, leaving his previous mealtime whoas behind."

Minot, North Dakota

...Montana is extra wide, realizing this from a bike is even easier then on a car (though I've heard that it seems wide even from the speedy perspective. Have been grinding away on my bicycle and think I'm about halfway through the States. Going to take a little break in Michagin and will then continue on, to see and seek out rocks unturned.
Pictures and another excerpt from chapter two:

"After and in the duration of eating, Tonten and Estes decide to ride further, while Jay and Hayden plan to camp in the area and hike around the park, while forward motion has become an addiction of the newly formed duo. The couple of days spent with Jay and Hayden full of paper, rock, scissors, undiscernable card games, beers, pork and beans, eggs, huckleberry coffee, snacks of meat sticks, steep climbs, eternal plummits, and the like has done him well. Estes and Tonten bid farewell to the couple and just like that they're off. Another hill to climb accompanied by windy roads thereafter- an up and down day. Tonten an offwhite bullet; Estes struggles to keep up, sometimes ahead and sometimes lagging far behind. An exciting new challange compared to the past couple of days meandering with two spinners. Tonten is a masher, while Estes falls somewhere between the two. They pull off about halfay to the town of browning sharing trailmix and a joint.

Tonten went to school at UC Santa Cruz, where he grew up and still resides: living out in the woods in a tarpshelter full with a double burner stove and a futon- a white wine wimper wispering softly to bed. He happens his way into free food- in whatever way that may happen- dumpsters, fanny packs, cross eyed jokers. They immediately take together a quest or at least the shared company of the open road eastward, twoards the same New York State.

Blasting through the foothills and into the next town, where streets are blocked by cop cars after they exit from a sheapish burger filled with free fries- snatched from the table perpendicular. A quick grab before the waitress has the chance to do her job of relinquishing unused foodscraps to the garbage. They step out into the oddity of mainstreet, doubling as highway two: the duo's route for another 800 miles or so. The town is busting with life-

"Watch out for the horses!" people continously hollar, as if a trample is inevitable.

"Get outta tha road!"

Estes and Tonten look at eachother, confused and conflicted, but pull off near the end of town, taking shelter from the howling winds behind a dirty building who scatters paint chips with the slightest nudge. They set out to find a grocery despensary, but now they stand in gaffaw as 200 wild horses barge through town- the start of the rodeo commencing the following day, as memorial for one killed in a drunk driving accident. Laughing, strangely amused, they saddle up as new age cowboys and follow those groping to the past's version of similar tradition. They arrive at the grocery store and stock up on neccessities. Estes finishes his shopping first, posting up alongside his radiant cycle and plays songs- urging to be heard over the hussle and bussle of Rodeo season. Though almost inaudible he makes a cool ten which evidently covers for the food just purchased. Off and out of town, a firstly shortsided mission, forgetting water and trickling back to the edge of town to brim up their various recepticals.

Finally off after a long day of passes and windy roads, strange controlled stampedes on a highway, oodles of tricks about life on the road. Tonten and Estes pull off with a sigh of relief- duck through barbed wire after throwing their bags and bikes over, reattaching mountains of gear and treck over a gully to a wide open field invisable to passerby. At the edge of this field is a little white cottage, followed by a shanty; looking completely constructed from clothes lines. They share Tonten's tent since there are no trees: Estes stares at the sky and eventually works up the energy for a nights rest."

Shelby, Montana

Everything's flyin by, more of chapter two:

"He Wakes up, a little slower then desired, expected and regretfully pulls his physical ailments behind a veil of wonderment that shadows him from the violent sun. Tearing down camp he strikes conversation with Umar; again an american spirit rollie, this time with more of the pure-bred all american family. Umar has work and Estes has a road to follow, eastward. Toards the concret forest of his future. He finishes packing and saddles up, first having to force his high horse up the steep tretcherous path followed the night before, near the top, control is almost lost with accompaniment of pitterpattering heartbeat, a tragic end to the beginning of his journey it would have been.
Onward through a clear fog of uncertainty, Estes dominates his pedalbike to the brink of peak performance. A machine so perfectly designed to unite man and land. One must wonder as the speeding vehicles wizz past at top speed, connected- if they really understand their destination or if it is just a cover for the fear of a life connecteed, living in surroundings. There is the sprawl of the west, constructed and fed by automobiles insistent rampage on the lives of simplicity possible with condensed population. The rocks bear distressed lines which act as present day proof of our misunderstood dominence- the earth works slow, but eventually catching up is inevitable. A flip 180 degrees would be a viable option to save us from imminent destruction, yet in due time the circle would end itself. Estes is headed towards Sandpoint, Idaho, a moderatly sized town that radiates an artsy yet tourist driven feel, with bicycles ll around. 11 am and he is in the tiny town of Priest River, where he fenangles his way to both the local library and to the local post office. There is a run in at the post office with a bitter old log time man who is sour and unhappy about all the "butterfly chasers and daisy pickers, this used to be a loggin town." Toungs bitten as hard headed opinions cannot be altered. Estes feels for the man, stuck in the past, but doesn't completely understand his hatred for the future."

Whitefish, Montana

Here I am, across the border of montana and almost at the feet of glacier national park. Everything continuously gets smoother and smoother. Thoughts of breaking around here for the night, but I will probably push forward.

Excerpt from chapter two:
"A quick cross over the Idaho border and Estes is in a new state, new people, places, attitudes, altitudes, climbs and descents. First of which is down a rocky dirt road in the nights fresh cool air, to the first legitimate camp site thus far. The atmosphere is thick with insectual beings, making each breath of air a gamble. Estes rides into the site unnoticed after hours and explores available spots. At the furthest end of the rec area is a section of "tent only" sites where the decision is made to guide his extremely heavy rig down a steep viney rooted incline which puts him right on the lake. A family is car camping right next to him, and is receptive to the vibes radiating off of Estes, supplying him with bug repellent and a meal consisting of ramen noodles bulked up with bits of chicken and vegetables, indiscernible to Estes as he devours graciously.

A phone call with Shea reiterates the emotional cause and effect of physical departure; seperate3 yet undeniably connected by underground or extraspiritual ties. This is true not only for long term relationships between lovers, but of any interaction between humanity, potential or otherwise. A ring from russel comes during intense conversations about the cold clawlike grip of reality, but once a closure comes about his message is checked.
"it's fuckin Russel dog, I love you so much man, I'm just out here hollerin at you, waitin for yo ass to get me back dog, once you say fool, find somewhere, give me a call on my phone, you got my number dog, lemme know what goin on out there with you man, I respect you alot for what your doin man, and you know I love you every day and I love to see that shit happenin man. I want you to be out there and I want you to be doing that shit. And I don't want you ever to give up man. I want you to be out there man cause you really got somethin man. You got a gift. So put it out there man. I love you boy. And if you get this get this and get back to me boy but if not, stay tall man, I love you boy."

A new boost of self accomplishment begins to set in; being that his entire family is behind him in spirits, shocked by his vigor and determination..."

Times out at the library.

PICTURES!!!!

Priest River, ID

I crossed the border from Washington to Idaho last night around Eight Oclock. My first state of many to successfully cross. People are open friendly, excited amazed about my journey. Everyone wishes me luck and safety. I am seeing America for the first time in my entire life. Another excerpt from Chapter one:

"Next morning Estes awakes at five and is headed up the next pass by six, after a heat flutter about water when he is saved by another gas station. One who's attendant has a goofy grin remarking
"what was your mom thinkin' when she dressed you today. Looks like you've been shot up with paintballs. You painted that all yourself though?"
The climb begins, this time everything seems easier being his lungs began acclimating even with the smoke being filtered through them. Cycle of motion begin second nature, almost nonexistent after a couple of days. Estes is along but not: with parts of everyone he meets inside of him; this world is full of wacky encounters, while zipping through little towns, big cites, open prairies that just beg you to take off all your clothes and run through them at full speed- because people have been there. The whole country resonates with kinetic energies of the past, as human kind has decapitated dear and thrust their throbbing member into the molten hot core. We are part of the world whether we like it or not. Estes feels these thoughts surging through his veins as his lungs pump air so fresh, so pure that you almost can get high- his spine tingles as he feels his place at least for this moment, the next and so fourth. Estes is here now, and there next. No fictitious bouts of schizophrenia, just purity reborn through the advancement of this beauty- tainted by American slumber.
Hacksawed knees, bees following him a reincarnation of Tom, Reading close to the so built up Sherman pass, a glimpse of what it must feel like to be unreal. A a wrongfully accused scenic outlook he decides to stops and smokes a hash ciggarette and just take it in. Shitting off yet another highway railing, this time making an effort to cover up fecal matter. Contemplation and he finally searches the scenic area, drawing a picture or two, playing his banjo."

MORE TO COME...Hopefully pictures soon.

Colville

Here I am in colville, WA at the public library. AND i still cannot show you any pictures from the trip since all the libraries across the country don't allow uploading. THings are getting easier, and I'm getting into the groove of things. Meeting so many crazy people, seeing beautiful places and just feeling alive. I am no longer going to post entire chapters of my book but instead just excerpts that tickle me pink. Here's some from the first chapter: of course more to come.

"Of course the post office is closed, but the mailboxes inside are available and Estes is able to find an envelope for his excess weight. After much contemplation he leaves a small bundle of juggling balls, books, clothing, and unnecessary tools beside the road- some of this is retrieved later but that's beside the point. Off to find a bite to eat, but then realizes his harmonica was left on the red plastic bench- that litters the streets of America- in front of the Post office. He scurries back with heartpumping speed to find it resting inconspicuously in front of the post office.

The smell of pizza illuminates the air guiding Estes to a restaurant deemed Eastside20Pizza. Gawkers dig his bike outside whether they understand or not. After a calzone and dark beer, served by a cute blond waitress, he finds his way back to his bike after being offered a free place to camp tonight. The offer is tempting. At his bike the banjo decases itself, a harmonica hangs around the skintight neck of Estes. He begins playing a haphazard aray of sonic vibrations. People do what they do: watch, listen, breathe, drink, masticate on greasy pizza. A glint of happiness creeps over Estes's fidgity hands and feet as onlookers become interested.

A couple of songs go by and one of the cute waitresses from before makes a request that he play the stage setup in the back quartyard. Climbs atop the triangular stage littered with various instruments, at first attempting accompaniment with the father of the owner of eastside20, as he plays absolutely wretched beat and undiscernable keyboard and guitar. Estes edges his way into control, slipping into the spotlight and shows vigor and his performative side shining. As if a new shell has been entered by a wandering vulnerablee hermit crab. Someone gives him a tip afterwards and Estes is on his way to find a place to sleep. The area has become desertlike, with urine radiating sagebrush and scattered pines instead of the usual cactus and sand. A couple of potential spots to hang his hammock fall through so he instead lays low beneath sagebrush and his tarp, blocking himself from view, on a sleeping pad, being stabbed in the back by grass, but totally content on his surrounding. Sleep comes easier then before with dreams of future places to busk and show artwork."

I will try to get pictures up soon through a warmshowers host. Stay tuned.