Road Trip
I ended up returning early from my road trip to Mexico, or rather, to California. Its a long, complicated story, so I think I'll start at the beginning.
My friend Juan and I decided to set out on a trip to Michocan, Mexico (see earlier post). We left on Monday night, pretty late, and started across the country in his 2001 Ford Lightning SVT. After about 500 miles and $80 in gas, we decided that it was probably a bad idea to have taken a vehicle that gets 13 miles per gallon on a trip across the country to California, into Mexico, and then back across the country to good ole' Georgia. However, we decided to keep going for the hell of it and just to be frugal with the little money we had brought. We took turns driving, in six to eight hour shifts, until we reached Arizona on the second day. We were both extremely tired, so we stayed in a cheap motel and continued with our trip through the Mojave desert shortly after dawn. We drove all day, finally reaching California in the late afternoon. The first stop made in California was at a Jack in the Box, where I got an awesome chicken sandwich and a caramel shake. We then decided to visit some of Juan's family in San Jose. We made the 4 hour trip and ended up staying at Juan's cousin's place. The next day we turned back around and took 101 down the coast to Los Angeles. By the time we got there it was already getting dark, so we decided to spend the night at another of his friend's places in the outskirts of town, about 60 miles east of downtown L.A. We hung out with his friends and then went back to LA in the morning to go to the County Registrar's office in Norwalk.
After much discussion, we decided that we didn't have enough money to make it back in time, so I decided that I was just going to take a plane back to LAX as soon as I could afford a flight. Juan dropped me off at the birth certificate office and we said our good-byes. I stood in the hour long line in order to get a certified copy of my birth certificate, and then sat down on a bench next to a random black guy who sparked up a conversation with me. I told him that I was dropped off in LA and that I needed to get to the airport, so he gave me a ride to the bus station about a mile or two down the road. Once I got to the station I hung out with some cool people who ran a hot dog stand. I chilled with them and listened to some music, ate a hot dog and drank a Pepsi. It turns out that one guy was a hitch-hiker from Florida; he told me where it was cool to go in LA to sleep. He recommended the Santa Monica beach or the airport. I bid my farewells and caught a bus towards LAX International Airport. While on the bus, I met a group of rowdy teenage girls who wanted to go hang out in South Central. One of them said I could use their computer, so I got off the bus with them at a stop near 78th and Central, in the middle of the Ghetto. I used a computer to buy a plane ticket on AirTran.com. The only flight I could afford left on Tuesday afternoon... it was two o'clock PM on Friday. One girl, Irene, said that she could find me a place to stay for the night, and took me through the ghetto to her friend Tereasa's house. Tereasa's parents were alcoholic ex-crack-heads with some crazy stories about living in the ghetto.
The next morning I decided that it was probably safer to be out of South Central, so I caught a bus to Santa Monica to hang out at the beach and check out the world famous Santa Monica Pier. When I got to the pier, I immediately spotted an interesting looking hippie beach bum and introduced myself. I ended up hanging out with "Scare Crow" for a while and took him to lunch after I got done swimming and saw his homeless and hungry sign. After we ate I asked him if he knew the Rainbow Family, and he said that he was a part of it. I told him that I knew some Rainbow kids, and he said that since I was a friend of the Family, he would help me out. When it started to get dark, he showed me his campsite, or squat, up inside the Santa Monica Pier. We walked under the pier, and then climbed up onto the maintenance cat-walks, which lead to different maintenance rooms under the pier, with water, fire, and electricity controls. It turns out that there is practically a hobo village under the pier, with a group of people that live on the catwalks and in the various rooms. We hid from the tourists, a few feet under the surface of the pier, and also kept away from the police, which constantly drove up and down the beaches looking for squatters and such.
I lived under the pier for almost two days, getting to know all of the locals. ScareCrow's friends included Leaf, Dozer, Hippie, and Bubble Man. Hippie was the man to talk to if you were looking to find some smoke, and Bubble Man was a local landmark. Bubble Man was one of the Homeless Hippies, and attached to his cart were two bubble machines that filled the pier with bubbles during the day for children to play with. In return for the smiles he brought the children, many parents would throw extra change or sometimes a dollar or two into his donation buckets, labeled "Bucks for Bubbles" and "Bubble Solution Donations." Another sign was posted on his cart, "Bubbles are always free, just as long as you smile." The jolly bubble man lived his life entertaining children, and he seemed to be the happiest person on the pier. On the second night at the pier, a catering company that had leftover food from a party donated five trays of rice and peta bread to the Bubble Man. He shared with everyone that was still at the pier at one o'clock in the morning. After we had our fill, me and Scare Crow wrapped up the remaining food into about 50 serving size portions, with the help of a few nice tourist girls. Then, ScareCrow and I walked around Santa Monica all night, until about five o'clock, feeding the homeless. We covered Ocean Avenue, Santa Monica Boulevard, and the Third Street Promenade, as well as the surrounding blocks. After the long night of charity, I climbed back into the pier and fell asleep in my cold, wet, dank, but somehow home-y living quarters.
The next morning I woke up pretty early and spent some time at the beach, playing in the waves and catching crabs under the pier with some small children. Later I got a call from a few girls I had met on the beach the previous day and went to their hotel to take a shower. After getting clean, I felt less like a hobo and more like a tourist, coining the phrase "Tourist by day, Hobo by night" as a joke. I ended up spending the day at the beach and on the pier until it started to get dark, then I hitch-hiked from Santa Monica to the airport with a Czech guy named Sandy. When he dropped me off, I went to the AirTran counter to check in two days early, and the agent behind the counter, James, was astonished at my story. He responded with "But you're my little brother's age" and said that he might be able to put me on an earlier flight. He said that it wasn't safe to stay at the airport all alone, but then I thought that it was probably safer than the Pier. He looked through the computer, reporting that every flight was overbooked and that there were 28 people in standby. Even so, he printed out a standby ticket and told me that he had placed a priority code beside my name and there was a chance that I could make the next flight, which left in about 10 minutes. I ran to gate 34 where I met Lauren (?) who checked the standby list and let me on the plane with only minutes to spare. From there, I called my friend Nick, who helped me find a ride back from Atlanta. Big Cleatus ended up picking me up from the airport, and I was extremely thankful for his and Nick's help. I was glad to be back home, and slept in my extremely comfortable bed for nearly a full 24 hours.
I never made it to Mexico, but I still had an adventurous time on my crazy road-trip.
My friend Juan and I decided to set out on a trip to Michocan, Mexico (see earlier post). We left on Monday night, pretty late, and started across the country in his 2001 Ford Lightning SVT. After about 500 miles and $80 in gas, we decided that it was probably a bad idea to have taken a vehicle that gets 13 miles per gallon on a trip across the country to California, into Mexico, and then back across the country to good ole' Georgia. However, we decided to keep going for the hell of it and just to be frugal with the little money we had brought. We took turns driving, in six to eight hour shifts, until we reached Arizona on the second day. We were both extremely tired, so we stayed in a cheap motel and continued with our trip through the Mojave desert shortly after dawn. We drove all day, finally reaching California in the late afternoon. The first stop made in California was at a Jack in the Box, where I got an awesome chicken sandwich and a caramel shake. We then decided to visit some of Juan's family in San Jose. We made the 4 hour trip and ended up staying at Juan's cousin's place. The next day we turned back around and took 101 down the coast to Los Angeles. By the time we got there it was already getting dark, so we decided to spend the night at another of his friend's places in the outskirts of town, about 60 miles east of downtown L.A. We hung out with his friends and then went back to LA in the morning to go to the County Registrar's office in Norwalk.
After much discussion, we decided that we didn't have enough money to make it back in time, so I decided that I was just going to take a plane back to LAX as soon as I could afford a flight. Juan dropped me off at the birth certificate office and we said our good-byes. I stood in the hour long line in order to get a certified copy of my birth certificate, and then sat down on a bench next to a random black guy who sparked up a conversation with me. I told him that I was dropped off in LA and that I needed to get to the airport, so he gave me a ride to the bus station about a mile or two down the road. Once I got to the station I hung out with some cool people who ran a hot dog stand. I chilled with them and listened to some music, ate a hot dog and drank a Pepsi. It turns out that one guy was a hitch-hiker from Florida; he told me where it was cool to go in LA to sleep. He recommended the Santa Monica beach or the airport. I bid my farewells and caught a bus towards LAX International Airport. While on the bus, I met a group of rowdy teenage girls who wanted to go hang out in South Central. One of them said I could use their computer, so I got off the bus with them at a stop near 78th and Central, in the middle of the Ghetto. I used a computer to buy a plane ticket on AirTran.com. The only flight I could afford left on Tuesday afternoon... it was two o'clock PM on Friday. One girl, Irene, said that she could find me a place to stay for the night, and took me through the ghetto to her friend Tereasa's house. Tereasa's parents were alcoholic ex-crack-heads with some crazy stories about living in the ghetto.
The next morning I decided that it was probably safer to be out of South Central, so I caught a bus to Santa Monica to hang out at the beach and check out the world famous Santa Monica Pier. When I got to the pier, I immediately spotted an interesting looking hippie beach bum and introduced myself. I ended up hanging out with "Scare Crow" for a while and took him to lunch after I got done swimming and saw his homeless and hungry sign. After we ate I asked him if he knew the Rainbow Family, and he said that he was a part of it. I told him that I knew some Rainbow kids, and he said that since I was a friend of the Family, he would help me out. When it started to get dark, he showed me his campsite, or squat, up inside the Santa Monica Pier. We walked under the pier, and then climbed up onto the maintenance cat-walks, which lead to different maintenance rooms under the pier, with water, fire, and electricity controls. It turns out that there is practically a hobo village under the pier, with a group of people that live on the catwalks and in the various rooms. We hid from the tourists, a few feet under the surface of the pier, and also kept away from the police, which constantly drove up and down the beaches looking for squatters and such.
I lived under the pier for almost two days, getting to know all of the locals. ScareCrow's friends included Leaf, Dozer, Hippie, and Bubble Man. Hippie was the man to talk to if you were looking to find some smoke, and Bubble Man was a local landmark. Bubble Man was one of the Homeless Hippies, and attached to his cart were two bubble machines that filled the pier with bubbles during the day for children to play with. In return for the smiles he brought the children, many parents would throw extra change or sometimes a dollar or two into his donation buckets, labeled "Bucks for Bubbles" and "Bubble Solution Donations." Another sign was posted on his cart, "Bubbles are always free, just as long as you smile." The jolly bubble man lived his life entertaining children, and he seemed to be the happiest person on the pier. On the second night at the pier, a catering company that had leftover food from a party donated five trays of rice and peta bread to the Bubble Man. He shared with everyone that was still at the pier at one o'clock in the morning. After we had our fill, me and Scare Crow wrapped up the remaining food into about 50 serving size portions, with the help of a few nice tourist girls. Then, ScareCrow and I walked around Santa Monica all night, until about five o'clock, feeding the homeless. We covered Ocean Avenue, Santa Monica Boulevard, and the Third Street Promenade, as well as the surrounding blocks. After the long night of charity, I climbed back into the pier and fell asleep in my cold, wet, dank, but somehow home-y living quarters.
The next morning I woke up pretty early and spent some time at the beach, playing in the waves and catching crabs under the pier with some small children. Later I got a call from a few girls I had met on the beach the previous day and went to their hotel to take a shower. After getting clean, I felt less like a hobo and more like a tourist, coining the phrase "Tourist by day, Hobo by night" as a joke. I ended up spending the day at the beach and on the pier until it started to get dark, then I hitch-hiked from Santa Monica to the airport with a Czech guy named Sandy. When he dropped me off, I went to the AirTran counter to check in two days early, and the agent behind the counter, James, was astonished at my story. He responded with "But you're my little brother's age" and said that he might be able to put me on an earlier flight. He said that it wasn't safe to stay at the airport all alone, but then I thought that it was probably safer than the Pier. He looked through the computer, reporting that every flight was overbooked and that there were 28 people in standby. Even so, he printed out a standby ticket and told me that he had placed a priority code beside my name and there was a chance that I could make the next flight, which left in about 10 minutes. I ran to gate 34 where I met Lauren (?) who checked the standby list and let me on the plane with only minutes to spare. From there, I called my friend Nick, who helped me find a ride back from Atlanta. Big Cleatus ended up picking me up from the airport, and I was extremely thankful for his and Nick's help. I was glad to be back home, and slept in my extremely comfortable bed for nearly a full 24 hours.
I never made it to Mexico, but I still had an adventurous time on my crazy road-trip.