Playing Fair and Being Kind

Yesterday I was at Lowe’s in Santa Fe over on Zafarano. I’d gone in to find a wood stove poker and some vacuum cleaner bags. When I returned to the parking lot I was approached by a young man. He’d seen Rocinante with the Maine license plates. He explained that he was from Maine and was curious. When asked he responded that he was from several places one of which was Peaks Island off the coast of Portland. That interested me for I had an old school mate from my Boston days who had retired there and spent his last days on Peaks Island. Peter Dean, my school mate, and I had had a meaningful conversation a few months before he passed away.

Peter and I were at out last high school reunion together when he asked me a very personal question. Peter was sweet on a girl in our middle school years. Her name was Natalie and she was the smartest kid in school. Peter was the second smartest. I was a tick below average myself. No where near those other two.

It seems all those years Peter had wondered why Natalie never gave him the time of day. He had pined over her apparently for many years. He wanted to know if, as he suspected, if I had stolen her heart. He was curious to know finally if I was in the way of his ardor. The question surprised me as I had never any inclination toward a romance with Natalie. Natalie by the way was the perfect physical model for the class egg head. She had curly red hair and heavy prescription glasses that kept sliding down her nose. I was not interested in the least. Sorry, Peter. Not me. He seemed relieved. A few months later Peter had a heart attack and died on Peaks Island in Maine. I am happy that Peter cleared up that mystery regarding Natalie and me before the end came for him.

I told this young man this story in the parking lot of Lowe’s in Santa Fe. He was moved, I could tell. He thanked me for sharing and went on his way, changed I’m sure.

Well, I have written about my trip from Boothbay to Rowe, New Mexico. Here it is below.

THE EAGLE HAS LANDED

For me traveling by automobile is an adventure; always. The car, the road, me; everything about it has meaning and everything about these elements is in flux. Moment by moment there is opportunity for danger, romance, pleasure; anything. The movement of the machine and me over the road draws us through changing sets second by second. The opportunity to encounter and survive wholly new adventure is constant. I associate my travel experience with that of Don Quixote therefore I have named my vehicle “Rocinante”. Rocinante is a 1992 SAAB 900; reliable, sturdy, no turbo, twenty-five years old. I am a male of Scots-Irish and French ancestry more than three times as old. We share antique status.

I left Maine on Monday morning the 12^th of September. Timing is always on my mind in regard to driving through populated areas. I resist driving during peak traffic hours near congested populations. Leaving Boothbay at 10 AM would prevent potential delays along the highway. I intended to drive straight through and reach the outskirts of the megalopolis that stretches from Portland, Maine to Springfield, Massachusetts. The road was busy but not overly crowded.

The day was just turning to dusk when I crossed into New York State. I stopped in Utica for a quick bite at the Bite Bakery and Cafe. They serve a full menu with vegan options. I had a veggie sandwich and coffee. Back on the road I was thinking of a place to stop when it got dark. Syracuse was an hour along the road. When I got there I pulled into a rest stop. By now the contents of the car had shifted and settled sufficiently so that everything was where it was going to go. I formed a nest on top of the bedding and padding I’d prepared earlier and I conked out for a few hours.

It takes me a few attempts to adjust to the needs of my body to rest and to the needs of my mind to work. The combination of the two can be distracting so that no rest is achieved at a ll. Two hours of sleep is luxury in the routine of driving and sleeping along the highway. My mind is alert for dangers and my body aches for full horizontal repose. I have found the rest stops to be less a magnet than the truck stops for those unfortunates who have developed scams for getting money by pretending to just have run out of gas or have just had an engine problem. Whenever I have been a traveler on any conveyance there is always the chance of encountering someone with a game. I have had to deny them for whatever it is they claim to need. I fear I will tip my hand to how much cash I carry and then I will have another situation worse than the original. I feel a need to explain here that I am an altruistic sort of person. I give money to people who are asking for it on the city streets. I have become hardened to those in truck stops who are preying upon legitimate travelers. When I need to stop I opt for the D.O.T. rest stops on the interstate highways.

I wanted to stop and visit with Tom Owens who lives in Massillon, Ohio about an hour drive from Cleveland. I was in an awkward situation time-wise. I was too alert to sleep and I was going to be getting to Cleveland in the middle of the night if I kept traveling. I needed to kill time but spending a sleepless and restless few hours in a stationary car was not what I wanted. In this case of being out of sync with the clock and geographic location I took it into my head that I might as well play tourist. As I neared Buffalo I took a side trip to Niagara Falls. The falls viewed from the Canadian side are more spectacular than the U.S. Side. When I got to the border the Canadian agent at the gate was curious about my travel plans and it took me a few minutes to explain why I was entering her country at 4 AM in order to visit the falls. She was a pleasant natured individual and we had a good chuckle at my style of being a tourist. When she informed me that the lights were not on to illuminate the falls I replied that I would have a chance to see them in their splendor as the original people did. When I eventually found my way to the falls they were indeed spectacular even in the gloom of night. Perhaps they were even more so because of the dark.

It was during this period that I was in contact with Gary Farmer of Grove City, Ohio near Columbus. I was planning on paying him and Loretta a visit as well. I ended up staying with them for a night and the next morning I introduced Gary to a vegan restaurant, The Angry Baker, near The Ohio State University in Columbus. It’s always a treat to discover with my hosts a new venue in their hometown.

After my visits with these two great old shipmates it was on to Minneapolis to stop in for a few days with Lynne Lefler. We’d had this same treat before a few years back and it was good to see her again. Lynne and I had a good time eating at places that catered to vegan and vegetarian tastes. There were two places that blew us away with their menu. One was a place Lynne had been to with her daughter previously; Hard Times Cafe. Huge sumptuous dinners served up by somber, self involved counter men. The food was wonderful and the atmosphere a bit over the top with the music but still a joy to experience. The other delightful dining treat was a pizza shop, Pizza Luce. The had a complete menu which included vegan options that were beyond belief. They make their own cheese topping which goes on under the sauce since it is non-dairy and needs to be applied that way. Delicious!!!

We had a great time with Tony our wait staff. He is an expert at all things pizza and vegan.

From Minneapolis I needed to hike on over to the Standing Rock Sioux reservation in North Dakota. I wanted to witness what was happening and take part in any protest against the oil pipeline being laid through their land. I took a break from driving when I got to Fargo North Dakota for a breakfast stop at Boppa’s Bagels. There I encountered a group of older folks who came in and wanted to know who owned the vehicle with the Maine plates. All of them were from Maine and had relocated to Fargo. I introduced myself and when they heard what I was up to the conversation came to a close. Oh, well…

I arrived at Bismark, North Dakota. Bismark is the largest populated area near the reservation. State highway 1806 is the only approach to the reservation. 1806 is a simple two lane blacktop that weaves its way through lovely terrain that holds hardwoods and evergreens that cover rolling hills. The Missouri River lies to the east. I was not prepared for the beauty I encountered. The usual picture of reservations is of barren wasteland of no use or comfort to the inhabitants. Not so here at Standing Rock. When I got close to my goal there were warning signs of a road block ahead. State troopers and the National Guard have set up a roadblock ostensibly for information to provide information to motorists of the campsites ahead. The real reason is to harass anyone going to take part in the activities. I think they may have been photographing and recording identities as well.

After being informed of the campsite’s existence ahead I continued and saw three separate encampments on the left side of the highway. None of the activities there interested me. There seemed to be just camp life and a few ball games going on. I saw no specially marked or designated areas for headquarters. I decided to continue driving south toward the reservation village to find someone in authority to hand over my money. Naomi Swinton had added her donation to mine so I had two hundred dollars to deliver to whomever would take care of getting it into the right hands.

I passed a casino and a well appointed marina on my left and a few miles later I entered the town of Ft Yates. What I saw in the town was a disappointment to me. I had fantasies of town life that would match the beauty of the casino and the marina and the territory that I passed through. What I saw was close to my earlier imagined squalor and wasteland. Houses were run down, in desperate need of repair. The only beings I saw were a few children playing in the abandoned structure of an old gas station and three or four teen boys hanging out in front of a small market. No adults were out and about, just a few kids here and there. I was confused and unable to understand what was going on here today compared to what I had seen on the news and social networking channels. I was experiencing cognitive dissonance. I found the tribal headquarters closed and other public buildings were all closed as well. I drove on out of the reservation and headed south toward Wyoming and Colorado. Before I donated the money I was carrying I needed to know more.

As I drove through the reservation south of Ft. Yates I passed farms and ranches that looked well kept and productive. I didn’t see any human activity where I might stop and inquire regarding ownership. Later in the day when I suspected that I was off the reservation I came to a town, Faith, South Dakota. An event was being held in the center of town; an auto show of some sort. Older, restored cars and motorcycles lined both side of the main street. As I was driving out of town something struck me so I reversed direction and found a parking lot behind a hotel/restaurant. The eatery came with a bar, the Two R Bar. I went in and found out this was an antique auto and motorcycle display for the town folk. While I was sipping a beer and eating my lunch the bar tender and the cook, brothers, informed me little by little that many of the handsome farms and ranches on the reservation were owned by white people. They couldn’t explain to me how that could happen, white people owning large tracts of land on the reservation. In fact the Two R Bar was owned by the Two R ranch and the Two R ranch owned a large portion of land on and off the reservation. In fact the owner of the Two R ranch and the Two R bar was sitting a few stools away from me. She wasn’t paying me any attention. She was involved in conversation with a friend sitting next to her. I was getting an education but I still didn’t know much.

Later, after I reached my destination in New Mexico I did a little research on Google about reservations. I found that the Native American populations living on the reservations do not have real control over the land upon which they live. There is not enough space here to explain. I can only direct you to this web page in Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indian_reservation

What I concluded from what I saw on the reservation, what I learned from my conversation with the white people in Faith, and from what I read in the link above, the people of Standing Rock are not in any position to bargain for much of anything. If I were doing an intake evaluation at any of the agencies where I’ve worked over the years and the Sioux people were the client I would not know where to start with a treatment plan. This situation is a mess. I sent the money via Paypal to a known agent on line. I hope the best for them and I hope the best for the legal team that is helping them. I wish I knew what the solution is but I fear that the U.S. Government has them by the short hairs and that the reservations are disappearing bit by bit with no relief in sight.

It has taken me five days to write the last five paragraphs. I have been conflicted as to how to view the activism surrounding the pipe line construction through the reservation. Fear, anger, betrayal have raged within me. I can only imagine the emotions of those directly affected by this tragedy.

I drove straight through from Standing Rock to where I am living in Rowe, New Mexico. What I observed will stick in my mind for a long time. My digs here in Rowe are spartan and quite a bit rustic. The building is over forty years old, adobe construction with entry ways for all of the critters in area. The property is situated at the foot of the largest mesa in the world and is close to seven thousand feet in elevation.

Earth and bones. Quietly turn from the sun. In a few hours this kitchen will sparkle. Breath will come. Another day.

 

Last spring I came to New Mexico and lived at United World College in Montezuma, New Mexico. Actually it was late February. I stayed until the first week of June. The elevation took some getting used to. After two or three weeks I felt like I could climb the hills and stairways at the campus a bit more comfortably than when I first arrived. And then on May 1^st, while I was visiting Naomi in Santa Fe, I suffered a heart attack. The doctors inserted a stent in my heart to open and maintain clear blood flow. Since then I have noticed that I have a lot easier time physically. Oxygen in the blood is good.

I returned to Maine in June and spent over three months at my own place in Boothbay during which I began projects that are still active. My return to New Mexico is heart warming. I missed this part of the country. I got homesick for it a month after I was in Maine. Both places are dear to me. I’ll end this entry on this note. Thanks for you patience.