Anarchist to Abolitionist: A Bad Quaker's Journey
Get Out of Dodge
Through an unfortunate series of circumstances in 1996, namely, those two auto accidents destroying six automobiles and a major flood, my business adventures in Reno, Nevada died. The main stream news called the flood "A 100 year event!" Actually, the Truckee River goes out of control every ten years or so. In this case, it filled my shop with about two feet of mud and three feet of water, destroying most of my stock and much of my equipment and tools. I didn't have insurance on my business, because I was running it without the permission of local authorities and without the protection of the local Mob-based guild system, the union. Since I had invested heavily in my equipment, my stock, and in my new shop, and since I was almost incapacitated from the car wrecks, I was flat busted.
When it became obvious that it was time to get out of Dodge, or rather Reno, I loaded everything I could fit into the pickup truck that replaced my other pickup, and we hit the road, three little kids in tow. It was Grapes of Wrath 2.0, Okies Go East, and we looked the part. Out into the Nevada desert we roamed.
Due to some complications with the Carson City police and the Nevada State Highway Patrol (at some point in this writing I should more thoroughly address concussion-induced rage), we chose to take dirt roads and avoid the highways, as we worked our way north into Idaho, which was closer than Utah. The goal being to get out of Nevada as quickly as feasible without entering the People's Republic of California. No details on any of this, please use your own imagination. Nevada's statutes of limitation laws are quite different than California, Kentucky, or Ohio, so I am limited to what I can comment about on this matter. Suffice it to say, while picking up supplies for our trip, I had an encounter in Carson City where I narrowly avoided a collision with an idiot in a Cadillac. Then, the police and the highway patrol became involved, so it was best just to leave.
Late one evening, as we made our way up a dirt road in northern Nevada, I was having a hard time finding a place to make camp. The ground was littered with sharp rocks the size of basketballs and there was nowhere to pitch our tents. Finally, at dusk, we found an area about 30 feet in diameter, where the rocks had been pushed away to create a flat smooth dirt pad. It was perfect for my truck and our two tents. We quickly set up camp.
Wikimedia
As the evening descended upon us, a strange opera played out. It seemed the rock-free pad we were camping on was not a product of the elements. It was created by a herd of mustangs as their night bedding area, or wallow. We sat quietly, not moving, as a herd of about 15 mustangs slowly walked around and through our camp. They had befuzzled looks on their faces, as they tried to comprehend what had become of their bedding. One mare, with a young colt close behind, walked right between our tents, looking right and left, trying to understand these new sights, and these odd creatures she had never seen before.
The lead stallion gave some snorts and grunts, and the herd moved away. Then, we saw another herd a few hundred yards away. The two herds slowly approached each other and that's when my family and I witnessed the classic western iconic view. The two alpha males began their dance, followed by the two alpha females clashing with equal vigor. The fights didn't last long, but ended in one stallion absconding with half the herd of the weaker stallion. Thus, nature ensures the survival of the fittest.
The next day, we resumed moving slowly north to Idaho, camping where we could, staying unseen. We fished and frog gigged whenever possible, to supplement our rations. Once in Hollister, Idaho, it was time to rest and earn some gas money. A week went by with me doing odd jobs, until we were ready to move on to Twin Falls.
Twin Falls is a wondrous place, divided between the town that exists on the rim of the canyon, and the landscape 500 feet below in the Snake River canyon. We didn't spend much time there, just long enough to see the sights, including Evel Knievel's launch ramp.
It was in American Falls that we really learned how kind and generous the people of Idaho can be. Here we were, after two months on the road, a homeless rag-tag family, looking about as bad as a bunch could look, and the people of American Falls welcomed us like we were part of their family. There was always some little job to do, posted on a bulletin board at the local grocery store, and the kids could spend their days in the town park without harassment by the local constabulary. We recharged and healed in American Falls, camping just out of town in the shadow of a small hill.
Eventually, we worked our way across America to eastern Ohio, where my sister Judy took us in. After a couple of months in Portsmouth, a town without many job prospects, my brother Roy asked us to come to western Ohio. We did and I humbled myself by going back to work for a giant corporation, this time in the Aerospace industry. I never enjoyed being an engineer, but you can't always get what you want in life. Working for a megacorporation was not a pleasant task, but it paid the bills and provided shelter for my family.
Around the same time, Cindy obtained a very good job with a leader in the information industry. She also went back to school and obtained her second degree, this time in Business Administration.
Taking my family on the road, with little to no cash, was terrifying. But life is filled with choices, and that was the best choice I had, given the circumstances. Being homeless while wandering the countryside was an experience that helped to create the man I am today. I skipped some meals so the kids could eat, and had to leave some important things behind in Reno, but in the long run it was a wonderful adventure. My kids understood that we were broke, destitute, and homeless, but, at the time, it was just a long camping trip, a life-changing adventure. We experienced the west the way few people nowadays get to see it. We experienced the west like our forefathers saw it, except in a pick-up truck, rather than a Conestoga.
I've found that the difference between knowledge and wisdom involves the difference between knowing what you think is important, as opposed to the deep understanding that much of the noise in life is not actually important. It's quite possible that, had I not been homeless for that time, I may have never learned this valuable lesson. Additionally, I learned that no matter how bad things seem, there's always someone who has suffered more than you and still came out of it to prosper. There is always an opportunity to make things better. You just have to be prepared to see it and act on the opportunity.
First post & table of contents
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