At The Junction

 I wandered into the “Junction” around noon one day. It was after a wet, rainy night and a long walk with much of it in the dark.

The map gave little clue what might be found at the junction. The only person I encountered en route wasn’t sure what I might find there. He apparently didn’t pay much attention when he passed through hitchhiking to the south. There was an establishment at the junction but he wasn’t sure if it was open.

Well, praise be! The one and only business was open after all. Crossing under the Interstate, Pooh and I found a place to get watered and rested for an hour or two. Or so we thought.

Pooh began the rest while I entered the convenience mart looking for some refreshment. I quickly noticed that a good portion of the merchandise was not priced. I also noticed that customers didn’t seem to pay much attention. They just seemed to buy what they needed or wanted. Credit cards seem to induce people to act that way. I bought a few items which had prices marked at the same time I took up conversation with Gary, the manager.

 

In his fifties, Gary is a bespectacled man wearing a ball cap and orange shirt as well as a graying beard and an occasional smile. He told me he was dealing with a neuropathy - nerve problem - which affected his legs. He seemed a little gruff and testy at time. But, his story eventually explained some of the exterior.

Nonetheless, Gary took a bit of getting used to, especially for a fellow who asks questions. Still he responded to most of my queries and engaged more and more in conversation. I got to know Gary slowly over the coming hours.

To begin, I discovered he was from Detroit, had been a housepainter (some commonality), and had taken his present job at Papa Joe’s a couple years back. A big change and maybe a relief from his recent endeavors. Gary worked long hours and more than full time, but there wasn’t much else to do at the crossing which didn’t even have a post office. 

There wasn’t a house in sight, just a couple commercial buildings and parking lots. The building next door had been a restaurant off and on. On fairly recently, then off both during Gary’s tenure. The food was apparently good enough. But, the owner and the manager didn’t see eye to eye and the venture closed within months. I have to suspect that, like lots of places these days, getting reliable and persistent help may have added to the problem.

Then too, it seemed that the owner had unusual ideas about running his businesses. Besides not marking much of his merchandise, there was another sign of his commercial attitudes. Gary eventually pointed out to me - since I was walking I would not likely have noticed - that gas at the tanks in front of the convenience were priced at nigh on to $5.00 a gallon. The junction was in the middle of nowhere with many miles to the next stop in most directions. So, travelers had to pay the freight to get to the next gas pump.

 

My intentions were to break at the corner until late afternoon when things cooled before heading on with the trek. So, I went outside and leaned in the shade next to Pooh against the wall of the former restaurant.

That did not last long. I returned to Gary with the idea to clean up his parking lots a bit. He didn’t think much of that idea, but asked if I would mind clearing out the area around the dumpster in back of the mart.

I said, “Sure.” I took some plastic bags proffered by Gary and went to work.

I could have had job security if Gary had let me have charge. But, I contented myself with tidying mostly as he suggested. I filled several bags with trash and threw larger items directly into the dumpster. There was much more that might have been done, but Gary was happy with my contribution.

It seems that I hadn’t even finished the trash duty before my new friend said, “I will give you a ride to the next town, if you are still here at closing.”

Well, I was happy to accept such an offer. So, we would be staying until closing. I assumed that would be around 10, but it turned out to be quite a bit later.

I can’t quite remember where all the time went, since the stay at the Junction was for well over 12 hours. I do believe I returned to trash duty and tidied up some more. There was nothing for scenery or places to visit. Just the desert and highways in all directions. Oh, there were railroad tracks behind the shop, but I don’t remember any traffic.

By evening, Gary announced that he would drive me to the next town after the next town when the day was done. Well, there was further inducement to stay on at the Junction.

As the darkness came on, I spent more time inside the mart. Business seemed fairly steady. People came and went. Put gas in their tanks and bought food for their stomachs.

I found more jobs in the shop as Gary slowly prepared to close. While he did paperwork, etc, I volunteered to mop the floors, clean the bathrooms and fill the pop machines with ice. Gary showed me what to do, and I did it acceptably well.

The little jobs continued and the night moved into the next morning. Gary was to be off duty for a day or two and needed to take care of extra chores.

It was almost 2:00 in the morning when we lit out. By that time, Gary seemed so happy for the company and the help he said he would drive to a distant town on my route and then turn east, then make a loop back to the Junction as an outing for himself.

The vehicle was an old van parked in front. Weather-beaten and aged, but apparently - and hopefully - trustworthy. The passenger seat was loaded, so Gary told me to get in back where I reclined on a mattress. Maybe the van was Gary’s home after work hours. I never thought to ask about his residence.

Ensconced - so to speak - in the rear of the van on the mattress, I asked questions and listened Gary’s stories for the next few hours.

And, I got an earful. Much of which I quickly forgot. Gary’s story was a harsh one of growing up in Detroit with two brothers. Gary’s mother died when he was young and his relationship with his father went from bad to worse over the years. I know not on what side of town he was raised, but he soon enough fell in with ask tough crowd and got on the wrong side of the law.

Somehow, he managed an out by joining the US Army. But, that hardly worked and Gary was absent without leave for a long time for which he had to make recompense. (I have lost much of the story from its telling in the dark of night on the highway as he talked and I cranked my head to listen while wanting to sleep.)

My fellow traveler lost both of his brothers as the result of violence in their early adult years. Fortunately, Gary pulled himself up and out of trouble over time. Took on respectable jobs and gravitated to the West.

Along the way, he had many experiences hitchhiking into the Rocky Mountains and the Far West many years ago. He told me of thumbing with boxes and boxes at his side. People picked him up and got him up - or down - the road. Just like he was doing for me.

I have been fortunate for numbers of former hitchhikers of the past who have seen me on the road and spontaneously volunteered to assist my venture or adventure. “It takes one to know one.” Or at least it helps.

Anyway, the early morning excursion passed on. Halfway up the road, we stopped for gas and refreshments at a relatively new, almost sparkling convenience station. Gary paid for the gas, I paid for breakfast. Then, we hit the road again as conversation waned and I eventually took a nap.

Gary persisted at the wheel no worse for the wear and dropped me off 200+ miles toward Montana. I began the next leg of the journey in one of the larger towns in that part of the desert while Gary turned to the east on a little excursion. Pooh and I stepped out to the north after but a few minutes to get oriented to the town and the map. Almost of a sudden, we had covered a large chunk of our trek and Wyoming was then not too far up the road.

I have been in touch with Gary three times. I sent him a postcard and later a copy of my Montana book. Then, we had a brief face-to-face visit on a quick car trip back to Arizona in September.

I never know whom I will encounter on my travels. Almost without fail, I have met the best of people and they have treated with kindness and respect and generosity.

Gary is one of those friendly Americans. My hat is off to Gary and the millions like him.

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Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

My original plan for the 2015 Walk was to cover some of old Route 66 on the way to Las Vegas. At the time, I was imagining that I might be giving up my abode in northeastern Arizona for a spot in or around Nevada’s biggest city.

So, I did a little study and map research for the imagined trip through the desert to Sin City. Once I made Vegas, I thought I would take a bus up to Montana and visit friends while planning a return trip.

My researches led me to call a friend of a friend in Las Vegas asking for thoughts about a possible move there. Michelene suggested Henderson as one town to consider for my next residence. She also took pains to tell me how hot it is in Las Vegas in August. I just replied, “Well if gets too tough, I will just walk at night.”

Nonetheless, my conversation got me to thinking and checking the Internet for Las Vegas area temperatures in the summer. Highs turned out to be consistently between 100 and 110 in August. Wow!

I can do 100 for a couple days on the road. But, I thought, “Even walking at night, those numbers might be beyond my abilities.”

So, I thought some more. I came up with the idea to route to the East and inspect Las Vegas on my return in September. I had no illusions that traveling through the desert into Utah would be a lot easier than going up into Nevada. But, historical temperatures suggested that that route might be 10 or so degrees cooler on average.

So, I expected. What I had not taken the time to consider was precipitation. I simply figured the summer in the desert in the southwest would be hot and dry. Hot and dry.

Well, I got some pleasant and sometimes not so pleasant surprises on the trek to the Northland.

I should say that the Weather Gods were really pretty kind and helpful on the route. I was very lucky and so was Pooh. As we shall see.

The temperatures were moderate from those latter days in July when we started our travels. 80s and 90s. I think maybe it got into the mid 90s on a couple occasions.

The few days we spent in Arizona were warm and dry. Not Hot and Dry, thankfully.

My earlier looks at weather forecasts and past average temperatures suggested that southeastern Utah - namely the Moab area - would be warmer - maybe hotter - than other spots along the trail.

But, I was surprised when the skies began to clouded up as we passed through Moab.

Moab was old uranium mining country until a few decades ago. Recent years have seen it become a busy and sometimes expensive recreational area with access for tourists to a number of nearby national parks, scenic deserts, and man-made attractions.

We made a rest stop of sorts in Moab, picking up a couple Palisades Peaches for the road. They were consumed before I got to the edge of the city.

It was a bit of a climb trudging along the highway past a resort or two and on up from the valley through a stout rocky canyon. I waved the flag and Pooh gave me a few chuckles to get us up the hill.

It was toward evening before we found a spot on the side of the road to rest - 11 miles north of Moab. A trailhead on the west side of the highway called 7-mile Rim Trailhead. It was all the cloudier by the time we took over the rest stop all to ourselves.

There wasn’t much to take over. A parking lot, a dumpster, a portable toilet and a pavilion made of four posts and a flat roof. There was one long thick and split log on one side of the pavilion meant for resting. I pulled out my sleeping bag and tried to rest.

It wasn’t long and a rain took up my interest. I didn’t expect much, but it came down with a good kick and wet the sleeping bag before I realized that the flat roof above was meant to keep the sun out and not the rain. There was daylight between each board and the next one.

Still, I was hoping that the rain would pass over as quickly as it came. But it didn’t. I had no tent, just the bag, the flag, the bear and a poncho.

So when another round of rain picked up where the last left off, Pooh (who had been tucked in the backpack) and I retreated to the portable toilet. It was hardly comfortable, but we squished in. Gear and all. Thinking to wait out the rain.

No such luck.

It was way past dark as the rain persisted while abating a bit. I decided that the portable john had done its good deed and left a deposit in the donation box. We would do just as well walking the bike trail next to the highway. The rain was sure to stop eventually. And, the warmish air would dry us out some.

The clouds were parting just a bit when we returned to the road. We walked the bike trail and highway most of the night, stopping here and there when possible. The morning brought sunshine and an opportunity to dry the gear at a turnout on the highway.

We had been lucky to find some shelter, modest though it was. I should have taken a photo of our “toilet tent.”

Pooh and I made Crescent Junction before noon the next day. The highlight of that walk was a visit with and a photo of a man who calls himself Baboon.

The Junction is a story in itself which I will have to save for another time. It is THE spot on the highway north of Moab, most of 40 miles away. Thereafter, Utah went by quickly thanks to a meeting in Crescent Junction.

Before I knew what had happened, I was not in southern Utah, but in the northern and not far from Wyoming and Idaho. Two hundred miles can go quickly - especially for someone used to walking.

I cut to the northwest for a time skirting Flaming Gorge Canyon. Passing into Wyoming, the rains came down again. The poncho came out in the morning trudge until we found a little bit of a country store run by an older woman named Nyla. It was one of those places which needed some signage. “A business without a sign is a sign of no business.”

 

For the half hour or so I was in her establishment, I was The Business. I stayed long enough to dry off a bit, get a few things for the road and have a Cup of Soup. Actually, I bought two and decided that Nyla needed the soup more than I did. So, I asked her to take the extra Cup off my hands.

Then, back to the trail. We covered territory that day until darkness came and eventually the rains. They weren’t overwhelming. Just persistent.

And, we had no tent. I could only find a modest-sized evergreen tree on the side of the road to cozy under or into.

Pooh and I huddled under that dripping tree with the poncho covering our backpack and everything else for a few hours. Eventually, it got rather boring stationed there. So, we lit out again at about 3:00 am and let the coming day dry us out a little at a time.

Rain was threatening again a few days later when we had passed into southeastern Idaho. Actually, it was drizzling when Officer Larkin picked us up on the western edge of Soda Springs and gave us a quick ride to the Marina.

He said the forecast was for real rain, and I believed him. So, we “camped” for the night on the concrete slab under a pavilion near the water.

I was more concerned about mosquitoes than rain then. Neither eventuated. The policeman got his forecast wrong. But, we were glad for DRY and thankful for the young man’s stopping to help us find a reasonable spot to park after it was already dark.

The raindrops had not stopped falling in August in the desert southwest. We were nearing the end of the planned journey as things were tentatively scheduled when we got some unexpected lifts through the Pocatello area.

I had been in touch with Duane and Audrey Kolman who were planning a run down into Idaho to lift me back up into Montana by mid August. The farther Pooh and I traveled to the north, the fewer miles the Kolmans would have to drive to the south to rescue us.

The pace picked up thanks to a number of unsolicited rides. Several happening in lower Idaho.

We were aiming for Rexburg as we passed through Pocatello, Idaho Falls and Blackfoot. We had some fun experiences with young folk the last few days and were running into our last laps of the present journey.

 

Two jeep rides in a row, one from a potato farmer, and a brief - very brief - newspaper interview in Blackfoot made the day interesting. But as it wore on, the clouds appeared and the rains came down.

They weren’t terrible. Even though the wind made getting the poncho on a bit of a task as I have often found it.

We were some miles north of Blackfoot and thinking we had some more moments of weather to deal with when a car pulled over. A woman asked what we were doing and where we going. It was a tough time to campaign. But, I basically said, “We are just trying to get up the road toward Montana.”

Before we knew it, we were invited to Arlene’s house a couple miles off the road. Arlene made it clear, “I have never done this before and sure don’t know what my husband will say.”

Nonetheless, we got packed into Arlene’s small car and drove to her home. There to meet husband Ron who didn’t know what to think at first. But being a talkative bus driver for the Salt Lake Express, he soon got to know me a bit and I them.

The Mechams have a large property and grown children. Rod has changed jobs a few times and Arlene has held the family together while running a title company and a Lutheran bible study. I got a few hints that Arlene might have the talents to be a pulpit minister. I passed them on.

In any case, I was treated royally. Dinner and breakfast with Mechams, TV and conversation. A room to myself, sleeping on my decision on the cushy rug. Why mess up a bed for one night.

 

Arlene drove me a couple miles down the road next morning. Rod said they would look for me on their way to Rigby later in the day. They had a party with an old RV court group to join that evening.

So, we walked for several hours. Tiring a bit, I put out my flag and took a nap on the side of the road on the edge of a little town along the way.

The Mechams appeared late afternoon and lifted me further up the road to Rigby which turned out to allow me to make our last stop on the road at the Country Club Golf Course on the far north side of town.

While the Raindrops Kept Falling on My Head, they were surely beneficial in a number of ways. Like keeping the weather cool for August, getting to experience unusual shelters, and meeting grand people like the Mechams.

I am always pondering the way things turn out. The Mechams had things to share with me, hopefully I with them. I sent a copy of my Montana book to them some weeks ago. I hope Arlene thinks more about ministerial work.

And, then there is Rod -

Rod Mecham - Rob McNary

Rodney Mecham - Robert McNary

Interesting, Pooh and I started our journey out with Ronald McDonald and finished - more or less - with Rodney Mecham.

Thanks to Ronald and to Rodney and especially to Arlene.

I am reminded that Pooh and I have to visit another Arlene - 94 years old - at the nursing home in Harlowton in the next few days. Arlene read my Montana book when it came out. Said she would read it again when she had time.

I will ask her if she ever found time and then Pooh and I will do some politicking with her.

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The Mormon Trail + Addendum

The Mormon Trail

I have had the very good fortune to be treated as friend and neighbor by complete strangers on many occasions during my five cross-country walks. Episodes of kindness and generosity have come from the hands of a variety of folks. I am sure there is some commonality behind it all, but I have only gotten a few glimpses. Former hitchhikers, sometimes backpackers, occasional trekkers, and just plain friendly humans seem to make up a good share of the people who have helped me down the road.

I also have notice one particular recurring thread in my last years of walking. I have decided to call it the Mormon Trail. I seem more and more to run into and be helped along the way by Mormons, often called Latter Day Saints. In 2014, my travels criss-crossed the literal and historical Mormon Trail in Wyoming and Nebraska.

On other occasions, I have experienced a modern version of the Mormon Trail. In 2012, I received a lift up the road to Rexburg, Idaho, a tour of the city, and a night at the Super 8 thanks to Mayor of Rexburg, Richard Woodland. On the following day, I visited the Mayor at his City Hall, took pictures and was sent over to the Rexburg Standard for long and engaging newspaper interview.

Rexburg is the home of Brigham Young University - Idaho and overflows with Mormons and their churches and lives. But, Mormonism spreads out all over and especially in the western states. I received gifts - sometimes unknowingly, I suspect - from Mormons a number of times on the 2012-trip.

Near the end of the trek, I stopped in Rogerson, Idaho, before heading towards Jackpot, Nevada, and the real desert. Anita Robinson, who runs the convenience mart and restaurant - the only business in town, cooked me breakfast“on the house”and put me on the road with a remembrance of Captain Moroni (a figure from the Book of Mormon).

* Find the Trail of these stories at the blog called Photogobia.

In 2013, I was bailed out by Mormons in Coulson, Montana, when the front wheel of the Buggy I was pushing fell off. A Mormon woman, Joann Kofford, eventually took me under her wing, brought me to her home, made me part of her family, and got a young Mormon mechanic to repair my rig, which he did without charge. How lucky can a guy be?

One might wonder about getting stuck on the road? What luck is that? But then, people like Joann step up and lend a hand like we are all supposed to do. And, new opportunities develop.

Farther down the road short of Ashland, I got caught in a hailstorm. I was drying out a bit when I made the town, but was still pretty weathered. Another Mormon, Koyatu Jorden, took charge. She packed the buggy in the back of her van and drove me on to Broadus where I camped in the park for the night. She even left me with a blanket worrying about me keeping warm. Koyatu was heading off to do road construction in the morning.

* See blog Rescues & Rescuers.

It is interesting that the end of this trip in Nebraska found me being befriended in different ways by Seventh Day Adventists.

* See blog entitled Natural Healing.

In 2014 during my sojourn in Wyoming, I was befriended by a Mormon helper on the second day out. For a time, I had found myself stuck in the heat of the day in a ghost town named Moneta (although the highway map suggested a regular spot in the road). The one family, a couple, in “town” kept me out of the sun during the day. But by 5:00, I was heading east with a few hours of sunlight to spare.

Before long, a man with a small child in the back seat of his car stopped and invited me to ride to Casper. I was glad to accept as it was really a long way from nowhere. The Good Samaritan turned out to be a Mormon podiatrist who worked and lived up the road. Dr. Marshall evangelized me a bit during the road trip, but did not push too hard. He dropped me off in front of a McDonald's and tried to put money in my pocket. But, I refused and thanked him for his preceding generosity. I sent him a copy of one of my books later on.

I don't remember any more Mormons on the road that year, but suspect I had rides or offers or helps from others along the way. One of my favorite moments that year occurred when I got picked up by Kathryn Wempen and dropped off in Kearney, Nebraska. We had met a couple days earlier at the Methodist Church in Overton. I have told quite a bit about the Wempen story in other blogs. 

* This story still sits on the front page of The Portable School Website.

As for 2015, I should begin by telling that I lived most of this past year in Snowflake, Arizona. Snowflake is a Mormon pioneer town named for two men responsible for starting the small community of 5,000 people (10,000 counting adjoining Taylor). Mr. Snow and Mr. Flake put their heads and names together in 1876 to found Snowflake. It really could be called Noflakes because the snow is pretty sparse there even though the elevation is around 5500 feet.

On the other hand, there are lots of Mormons named Flake in the town. I met five of them during my stay, including Joseph who is a brother to US Senator, Jake Flake. I didn't meet any Snows.

In any case, I spent most of the year in real Mormon country. The Mormons were all around, but I mostly encountered them in the grocery store near the RV Park where I stayed. I had been settled for six months before I got a knock on the door from two female Mormon missionaries. The moment was a little surprising since I was unaware that young women could be missionaries and had to wonder why a Mormon pioneer town with a dozen Mormon wards might need missionaries.

I had already encountered a number of Jehovah Witnesses and Seventh Day Adventists in the Trailer Park. Both of those sets of people were keen to interest me in their way.

I made but three good and potentially lasting friends in Snowflake. The first two were my landlord and landlady. I decided to call the Gibsons the Landbarons for a number of reasons. I don't believe Kevin and Debbie would mind.

My other friend is Jeff Hunt whom I met at the supermarket working one of his three jobs there. Jeff is descended from pioneer stock and invited me to his family picnic after the annual Pioneer Day Parade. Jeff did a large share of the cooking that day which featured chili and homemade bread. Jeff also did the honors in making 13 gallons of ice cream.

A few days after I had set a route and a starting date for my 2015 Walk to the Northland and Campaign Outing for Mr. Pooh, Jeff told me that he would look for us on his upcoming family trip through Salt Lake City into Idaho.

So, we kept in touch for a few days via text messages. When it happened that the family car was overheating and their trip was canceled, Jeff sent me a message wishing me luck on my travels and told me that he would pray that some of his Mormon kin would help me out along the road.

I tucked that notion in the back of my mind and continued on through Navajo Land. Pooh and I passed on by way of Utah and Wyoming. One morning as we had Montpelier, Idaho in our sites, a reddish late-model car (I don't know one from the other) made a U-turn on the highway and pulled up behind me. A woman approaching my age got out and asked me about our project and destination.

Before long, Pooh and I were ensconced in the backseat of the Mitchells' car. They were heading home to Boise and were quite interested to find out that we had started our journey in Snowflake, Arizona.

Carol Mitchell grew up in Snowflake, was born of Mormon stock, and knew the Hunt family quite well. How do you like those apples? 

Well, the Mitchells drove us 40-50 miles to Montpelier and headed onward for the rest of their journey home. So, did Jeff Hunt's prayer materialize? Or, how did that episode come about?

I had a couple other "Mormon experiences" on this recent trip in Idaho. Climbing a hill one morning in Potato Country, I was greeted by a group of young men up an incline on my side of the road. As I carried my flag, they were standing at attention and saluting. Well, I couldn't let that moment pass. So, I stopped. Walked up to where they were standing with eyes wide open. We had a short conversation and I took photos. I didn't ask, but knew quite surely that the boys were Mormons.

A day or two later in Chubbuck, I was sitting outside an ice cream shop having a treat. Some littler people appeared and asked about my adventure. They had seen me on the road earlier in the day. I had another conversation, campaign moment, and photo op.

On my last full day on the road, Terry and his daughter Raquel stopped to visit. Shortly thereafter, I got a motorcycle ride on the last mile or so into Rigby Idaho.

Some day, I will "figure" out the Mormon connection. When I do, I will relate the Rest of the Story.

Send comments or insights to theportableschool at gmail dot com.

Brief Addendum:

Two Mormon friends have recently suggested that because I have this affinity for Mormons, I should become one. My first response was 'not in this lifetime.'

After some thought I have come to the tentative conclusion that I must have traveled across the American continent with the Mormons in the 19th century - previous incarnation. That has got me thinking on another book with a title something like American Odyssey: From the Left Bank to the Golden Gate.

More later.

Telephone Power

Let me take a break from the Walk Blog and tell a story from my nine-month sojourn in Snowflake Arizona.

The "most exciting" week of my time there came when my landlords, the Gibsons, asked me to feed their dogs and cat while they did a horse training in Phoenix. They loaned me one of their cars while they were away, but I hiked back and forth six miles (10 times) in the roundtrip during their absence. I figured the exercise would help me get ready for my summer trek to the North land.

Practically every day, something out of the ordinary occurred during my hike to check on the animals. I, however, will just tell one story from those treks which occurred one evening.

While heading out about a half-mile from my destination, I got a beep on my cellphone. Since I "talk to wrong numbers," I stopped to check on the missed call from Ginger Arnold back on the East Coast. I decided I would return her call after I finished my chore.

On the return trip, I moved a few yards away from the shoulder of Old Woodruff Road and placed myself on top of big sandstone rock. I was at the top of the hill and as high as I could get in the area. I thought, "If there was a signal, I am sure to get it."

I punched through the numbers to make the call. And, I got through. Ginger said she was wondering about me. "Are you all right?"

I thought I was and said so. We talked just a few minutes and I returned to the road heading back to Snowflake.

I was just a few blocks down the hill reading a book as I walked, when TWO police cars with flashing lights came speeding in my direction. I was a bit surprised when they pulled off right in front of me. An officer jumped out of his car and asked, "Are you Phillips?"

"No."

"Well, you answer to the description of Phillips. Do you have a gun?"

"No. I haven't touched one in 40 years."

"Have you seen a man with a gun on the road?"

"No."

I was asked for my ID and I obediently handed it over. I didn't say much. I have learned to follow police orders and requests without question or wonderment.

After a couple minutes, the young officer returned my driver's license and the two headed off up the hill in their two police cars. I continued down the road on my wondering way, "What was that all about?" I thought.

By the time I turned the corner onto Concho Highway, the policemen were returning from their chase. They stopped just a block or so behind me.

Two or three evenings later, I traveled the same route without encountering police. (My first night out I had been offered and accepted a ride from Sank Flake, a former Snowflake Police Chief.) I was picking up trash as I wandered the road at that time. 

I had a plastic bagful when I saw a man emptying his own garbage into a big dumpster at the corner where I last saw the police. I went over, said Hello, and asked if I could dump my gleanings along with his.

He was accommodating and we started a conversation about a number of things. Before long, I had to ask, "Were you here the other night when the police stopped?"

I told him what had happened to me. The gentleman said, "Oh, I know what that was all about. Phillips used to live in the apartment next door. He was a little wacky, but now lives in Taylor. We haven't seen him for some time. I can almost guess who it was who called 911. Whoever it was was driving up Woodruff Road and saw a man standing on top of a rock next with what she imagined was a gun pointed to his head. Thus, the phone call to the police."

The moral of the story must be something like: "Do be careful where and when you make telephone calls and where you point your cellphone. It could be dangerous from one angle or another."

Image thanks to http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/suicide_40002

Send comments to theportableschool@gmail.com.

Navajo Nation

This summer's excursion began on July 29 early in the morning. As opposed to past years, I had company every day in the form of my good friend, Mr. Pooh, who is running for President. He tells me to announce that he has over 16 votes committed as the result of our cross-country walk. I think he has a few more than that but ... who is really counting now? Visit http://poohforpresident.com.

Pooh and I had some interesting conversations along the way. And, you should have heard us singing "Side by Side" as we walked down the highway.

A new friend, Laura Schubert, offered us a ride to Chambers from Snowflake Arizona one day when the two of us were helping to get the Huethers ready to move from the Shady Corners RV Park. It was an 80-mile lift up the road and I could not pass up saving 3 days of walking and a visit with an energetic school teacher and good-deed doer.

Laura let us off at the Navajo exit. Mr. Pooh and I spent a couple hours on the south side of the Interstate at the gas station and convenience mart there. I decided we should start the walk - for astrological purposes - at 10:15. So, I visited with the cashier Teresa and got her to supply me with garbage bags to help clean up the truck parking lot. Interestingly, the dumpster was already overflowing when I tried to deposit extra bags full of trash. I have come to realize that there is job security in highway cleanup.

A little after 10, we passed through Chambers which is little more than a few houses and an abandoned gas station north of Interstate 40 on US Highway 191. It was just a bit eerie starting out in such territory.

I also must say that when I walk through an Indian reservation I have some trepidation. People have told me to beware and I have had my own wonderments. But like most every place I have walked, I have only had the best of experiences in traveling through the Cheyenne Reservation two years ago and this year marching across the Navajo Reservation.

People are people everywhere. And my experience of the Navajo Nation was overwhelmingly positive. There was one minor exception I will relate in another blog.

We passed a few miles along the highway. Skies were partly cloudy, the road clear and the scenery was desert with only a very rare tree to complement the sparse grass and sagebrush. Before long a young Indian woman and brother stopped and then carried us to a turn in the road at Many Ruins. The young man was returning from an AA meeting and seemed to want to do a good deed. We happily accepted.

The walk continued on to Klagetoh where we were greeted on the edge of town by a radiant woman named Dorothy who jumped out of her van and took up conversation. Dorothy grew up on the reservation but lives in Minnesota and was visiting her parents - the Begays. She had to know what we were up to while bestowing a number of treats and water upon us.

I made a photo-op out of the occasion and got Sam the Flag and Pooh the President into the picture with Dorothy and her family.

Later on while I was visiting with LaMonte Smith at the nearby convenience mart, Dorothy reappeared with an offering of spaghetti and garlic bread. Dorothy was one of the brightest light so the whole trip. (If you ever read this, Dorothy, send me a note.)

Mr. Smith was a real talker and bent my ear for quite a while before we walked on. Pooh and I had again gone but a few miles when offered a ride of several miles to Ganado. A family of five with Montana connections who lived in Klagetoh (they were also part of the Begay clan) lifted us up the road and then turned back to drive home. I assumed they lived in Ganado and was much surprised when they turned to retrace miles to their home. 

This happened another time when a young woman spotted us early in the morning when rising from night's rest on the side of the highway between Mountain View and Kemmerer Wyoming. Trittany had just gotten off work on a 13-hour shift as nurse at the medical facility in Kemmerer. She was returning to Robertson - an hour away - but stopped to invite us for a ride back to Kemmerer for which she retraced her travels 30 or so miles. Then she turned again to the south. Trittany would be back on duty in just a few hours. She told me that she only needed three hours of sleep each day. That makes her extraordinary in a number of ways.

Back to my Navajo Nation sojourn: The Begays pointed out a park near the highway where we could rest for the night. Well, it wasn't much of park. A few trees standing next to a "wash." There are a lot washes in that country. A wash being an area which spurts and floods a bit when rain collects and has no river or stream to run into. Otherwise washes are patches of sand and dirt with maybe some trees and bushes making for some extra greenery.

Pooh and I rested next to the few trees and walked on when the sun came up in the morning. We marched with the flag until reaching an intersection a few miles up the road. There we met Wilbur Smith, a "cousin" of LaMonte who works for the Highway Department and offered a ride to take us a few miles up the road.

Wilbur did most of the talking and we surveyed the desert heading northward. Fifteen or twenty miles later, Wilbur turned off the main highway and bid us Good Travels.

We walked on to and through Chinle. I was hoping to find a stream or gully, or somewhere do cool my feet. Just a shade tree amidst the buildings in the desert town. 

I eventually noticed the Liberty Fellowship on the way out of town. I thought, "At least I can rest on the shadow side of this little church."

Eventually, Terry Jones appeared and slowly opened to a conversation. Before long, he brought out a bucket of water for my feet. And later, a couple of hot dogs. 

Terry is not the Fellowship minister but rather caretaker. I learned a bit about him and the Fellowship he has helped put together. He also told me about a Revival which was to be held up the road. I didn't get the details, but said I would be on the lookout as I traveled northward.

Before the day was out, other Revivalers found me resting again on the side of the road. Paulette and Albert drove me to their Revival (a different one - it seems they are fairly common on the Navajo Reservation). Sorry, no Revival photos.

I had never been to a Revival of any kind before. It was a Navajo Christian long, loud episode under a large tent. Maybe 60 people participated in what was apparently a common occurrence. 

Christian Rock from a three-man group began the affair which was followed by one speaker after another as well as testimonials. I even got up and shared a few words about my march through Navajoland. 

I kept hearing that food would be coming before long. But, it seemed to get put off and put off because of the order and length of service.

I was at a disadvantage - not knowing a word of Navajo. Some of the service was translated intermittently. But, the final hurrahs did not occur until 11:30 pm after starting around 7:00.

I was not very hungry by then, but decided to have a few beans and start walking again. By the time I passed through the line, all the beans were gone. So, ate a bit of rice and had a cookie.

Then, I made my Adieus. I was invited to rest on the property. But, I figured one spot on the desert was as good as any. The night was young and needed quiet and space.

We hiked on - laden with food and bottled drinks given by new friends - for a few miles along a dirt track next to highway. The moon was full and it was good to be back with Pooh on the road.

What did I learn from the Revival? 
* There are good people everywhere - or at least trying to be good.
We have opportunities to practice. And, I get to be on the receiving end of things when I go walking. That was not my intention, but it has been my good fortune along the way.
* Church people - whoever they are - like to carry on about God wanting this and that and having a special place for them. But, we all have a place now and always will. Old friend, Bill Modes, used to say, "We are living in eternal life right now!"

The next day, I woke up near Many Farms and walked slowly around Round Rock. It was a long stretch but I got to see many sides of the natural monument and walk through a bit of the Black Mesa. I had imagined hiking through part of Monument Valley. Round Rock turned out to be a good substitute.

I had a number of helpers that day. Carissa and Whistle stopped (photo) in mid-afternoon and gifted me with water and a sandwich. A little later, I was "shocked" when ice water in a bottle was handed to me by a couple of women in a local taxi for medical services. What a deal!

After walking most of the day, I made it to the town of Round Rock AZ. It barely deserves the name compared to the earlier spots on the road in the Navajo Reservation. After a short ride which I will tell in another installment, I walked past the small enclave of little more than houses with a school. I passed another tent set up for a Revival which was about to begin.

I decided one Revival might last me for years and walked onward. Of a sudden, a small pickup stopped. A woman named Adella invited me to sit in the back of her vehicle as she drove toward Blanding Utah with her two grandchildren in front. 

From walking three miles an hours, all of a sudden Pooh and I were watching Round Rock, the desert floor, and the rest of the world race past us. My appreciation - at least for the moment - for vehicular travel was increased. It was also grand to see the desert and rock formations pass by in full relief.

It seems Pooh and I swept through the Navajo Reservation in a flash. Time is one of those variable affairs.

What does not change in my experience - is people ready and wanting to lend a hand. Would that we recognized that and knew better how to make use of all those helping hands.

Thanks to all my friends here and there and especially in Navajo Nation.

Send comments to theportableschool@gmail.com.

Back in Montana Again

Friends, Neighbors and Fellow Travelers.

I made it to Montana after 19 days on the road. My partner Pooh and I are not much worse for the wear.

We met many fine people along the route from Snowflake Arizona to Harlowton Montana. I will try to share highlights of the journey in coming days and post pictures once I am re-settled.

Returning to Harlowton has been a bit of a surprise. Practically every day, an old friend or acquaintance appears wearing a big smile, asking about me and my travels and my future.

My good friends Duane and Audrey Kolman drove 300 miles to Rexburg Idaho to relieve me from road duty after already covering about 800. Now, I am occupied with helping them with house improvements. Duane is tending to refurbishing and painting window frames. I am in charge of the eaves and soffits.

The painting has been an irregular process in part because of social occasions. There has been family company, the 100th anniversary of the Masonic Lodge in Lavina, a dowsing excursion north of Shawmut, and an evening of guitar serenades thanks to Lorenzo Haarr. It has also been slow by heat, smoke from forest fires here and there, and the tempered movements of aging painters.

But, persistence pays off in painting just as in walking the highway. More about the latter in the next post. 

Send comments to theportableschool@gmail.com.

A Sweet Alternative to Politics as Usual

Friends and Neighbors.

My friend Charlotte has suggested a number of times that Robert should campaign for President. All else failing he might sell some books like Hillary Clinton, Newt Gingrich, and Ron Paul and several others.

Well, that would be a less than honest way to campaign. And, we need more truth, honesty, and other things in politics in the rest of life. And, Robert is not very political anyway.

Enter Pooh the Bear. Pooh is a friend to many and recently a regular companion for me.

picture info at new website

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I told Charlotte that Pooh should run for President as the Sweet Alternative. Several people have responded positively to the idea and concur that Americans need another choice.

I asked Pooh if he was interested. He said, "If the Donald can run, Then, Pooh can be President."

Pooh and I will be campaigning in the coming days as we take a summer trip from Arizona to Montana and back.

We invite your interest and support. Pooh has a new website at http://PoohForPresident.com

We will blog from http://theportableschool.blogspot.com as opportunities allow.

Contact us through email at theportableschool@gmail.com