Not so rapidly through Gillette. from Rapid to Portland. Maybe

"You gotta get off this bus" he told me through a grey beard and browned teath. "I'm sorry sir without a ticket I can't let you on."

"But you sold me the ticket, you see the tag on my bag, you put it there. That ain't enough?"

"Nope. It's not a ticket. It's like money kid, you go off and lose it in five minutes there isn't nothing I can do for you" came the cold, bitter voice coupled with lonely eyes.

With a long, drawn out and suspenseful pause I looked at the old man in the eyes. He could hardly hold mine. No mercy. I knew exactly where my ticket was, I could see it in fact behind locked doors. I also knew there were no excuses and no one to blame but myself. "Okay" I said in a clean, collected tone and took my self and belongings off the bus.

Mind racing....25 minutes till this thing takes off...and I better be on it, or would they let me sleep inside the bus depot and have to wait 24 hours till the next bus?

--------_______------______-----_____----____---___--__-_

Speeding down a pine ridge reservation dirt road in the rear of a pack of three pickup trucks, out of our cloud of dust flies a wheel, a tire rolling down and off the side of the road. Our fleet comes to as screaching halt. I jump out and huddle around nine other men staring at an open axel dug in the dirt. Attached to the rear of this truck is a 15 foot trailer that we were hoping to fill with wood that day. A plan in suspension as we get busy with jacks, nuts and bolts.

In the midst of drawn out repairs and scattered conversation my cell phone goes off full blast. An unexpected call: months ago when I was sketching out a plan for these travels I had applied to do a 10 day silent Vipassana meditation course in Camp Sherman, Oregon. I had been put on a waiting list. Now a spot had opened for me, the course starts June 1st; less than four days to get there.

I slept like a baby with dementional dreams after a full day of haulin wood, fixin trucks and f*ckin around; cherry coca colas and cheesy chips on wonder bread with diabetes jokes in the air, poking fun at reality for most, by the looks of these sincere and generous people, in the yard of a trailer home with spotty running water, tv blaring and black mold in the damp rafters.

I got to the bus station in Rapid City, SD about an hour and half before my 6pm bus was supposed to take off - Portland bound, scheduled to arrive 24 hours and 10 minutes later.

I purchased my ticket and headed out into the streets of Rapid. Spitting rain pushed me into the fist shop's doors. I stumbled around glass boxes of beautiful beaded jewelry, overpriced buffalo jerky, tanned hides, shirts with armed Indians reading "homeland security, fighting terrorism since 1492" and an assortment of commodified cultural cliches - beads, pipes, hides and smudges, bonified spiritual artifacts placed at plastic prices.

On my way out the door I bought a couple of huckleberry chocolattes for the sweet tooth of my friend Jon Edwards (http://illwindblog.blogspot.com/) awaiting my supposed arrival in Portland the next day. Ticket in same pocket as money clip. Transaction. Money clip in pocket. Chocollate in mouth. I'm herded out the door and back into the rain with the corraling "Alright we are closing up here" from the manager desperate to wrap up this drawn out sunday evening.

Back at the bus depot our ticket seller tells me its time to load up the bus and says he needs my ticket. I search my pockets. Nope. I look through my bags. Nope. Again, hands in pockets feel nothing but scattered brain, confusion, quandry. "It must have fallen out of my pocket when I... let me go look for it...I'll be right back"

I ran back to the Native Gift Shop, but it was too late. I pounded on all the doors and all the windows, peered through the thin glass. There it was, on the counter. An arms length away, my ticket taunting me to break in. Was really worth it?

--------_______------______-----_____----____---___--__-_

"I can see it through the damn window," I told the driver.

"And he won't just reprint your ticket?" He asked me with kind, sympathetic eyes.

"He just told me that there is nothing he can do for me. Listen, I could get my ticket when the store opens tomorrow, wait till tomorrow evening's bus, but you know, I got to get where I'm goin'. Listen, n no one but God is looking, we both know I paid my two hundred bucks for that ticket, you see the tag on my bag. If you've got a kind heart you'll meet me around the corner, I'll jump on there." I could tell the driver wanted me on that bus - he had already let me on once and now we were conspiring in the rain, both aware that our only barrier was the old man ticket seller.

"Come on, lets see if he won't reprint your ticket" the driver said. I followed him inside the bus depot and behind the ticket counter. The driver exchanged a few words with the old man. I stood, momentarily filled with hope as the old man stepped into the back office room and reached towards a printer - a big sheet of glass between us I could see his every sluggishg move.

The old man slowly staggered and stalled, simply sipping his cup of cold coffee, stumbling to and fro. not doin much of anything. I exchanged glances with the driver, I could see the concern in his brow. The suspense built. We all just stood there. Waiting. Sipping from white mug, stained like teeth black cofee thick like syrup. It became clear the old man was unwavering, unwilling to lift his head let alone entertain a dialogue.

The driver walked towards me and said under his breath, "come on, get on the bus."

We loaded my bag under the big bus and I boarded, catching eyes with a natrive woman I had explained my situation to earlier. "Yay, good" she exclaimed in a quiet tone. "Yea, this guys' got a kind heart" I said.

My heart pounded as the driver checked his paperwork and walked down the aisles checking his numbers and passengers. Time moved in slow motion as I waited for the old man to come out again and hunt me down like he had 40 minutes before. The driver walked by me counting heads and whispered in a grumbling nearly inaudible tone, "Come talk to me when we get to Billings, we'll get you a ticket there" his conspiring glance caught mine for a millasecond. I nodded, embracing his raspy voice and attitute that made me feel like a character in a fugative thriller flick.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came his voice through the intercom, we'll be getting into Billings, Montana at about one a.m. tomorrow morning..." We pulled away, no sign of the old man, his white mug or stained teeth.

The prairies passed from my window, through thick fog and relentless showers. We watched a fugitive thriller flick - Bulletproof - with Adam Sandler and Damon Wayens. As its credits rolled "Hey there, we are pulling into Gillette, Wyoming. We are gonna pick up some more passengers here and we will be on our way in 5 or 10 minutes" came the drivers mellow voice.

We pulled up and stopped at a sleazy looking motel at about 9pm. The driver came walking down the aisle and gave me a look to get up and follow him. "I gotta go" I said and hung up my phone call with Jon. I had been filling him in on the situation.

"I am sorry bud, but you gotta get off here. I just got my ass reemed by headquarters. I guess our guy back in Rapid called them up and now so yea, I'm sorry bro but you're gonna have to get off here" the driver said reluctantly.

"Well shit, I am sorry to have put you in this situation - I hope its not to bad for you."

"Oh know its cool, I am just kinda new here so I am just figuring out how it all works."

I got my things and met him inside the motel where we had stopped.

The lady at the counter looked like she had been filled in on the situation, "All I need to know is smoking or non, we are gonna put you up here for the night no cost. There is a bus going back to Rapid at 4 in the morning so you can do as you please - go back or find a way to have your ticket come this way on tomrrow's bus...."

"Well that is so kind of you, non-smoking please. I am gonna hold off on the ticket back to Rapid for now, I'll think about it some-more and let you know."

More action flicks that night in the hotel, Halle Berry and John Travolta, and a solid 12 hours of sleep. In the middle of my dreams I called the shop back in Rapid and asked if they would so kindly take my ticket over to the bus depot at around 5:15pm. No problem. The day was mine in Gillette.

In the morning (actually 1:25pm) I couldn't resist Reese's and Butterfingers for just $.25 a pop in the motel lobby and I took out into the town. A sprawling highway langscape. Junk yards and body shops, liquor stores and a railroad. A billboard that reads "Leaving a friend for dead isn't normal, but on meth it is". Whoa, I am just starting my day here...

I found a cafe and had their Green Chili Pork - to die for. I hadnt had such good Mexican fare since Texas. Thank you Wyoming! The place was charming too with mini sombreros on the wall above plastic chilis and a floor littered with fries. When I first walked in I overheard the conversation at a nearby table. A group of men dressed in black hoodies, tatoos crawling up there necks and over their arms about how much they like doing yoga. "Its seriously the best way to get a good work out, and a good stretch of all your muscles..." "My teacher is so flexible..." The best part for me is watching the ladies..." "The best part fopr me is watching the guys..." came a response with a flamboyont yet dead seious inflection; "I like the relaxation at the end the most, it always puts me to sleep..."

I toured my surroundings, phone camera in hand and enjoyed the afternoon, 4 cups of coffee to my head. Check out the photo album here.

As I write this in the Smart Choice Inn, the woman at the desk informs me that they have my ticket at the bus depot in Rapid, my ride should be here by about 8:30 this evening. Let hope so! Portland here I come...maybe