ACROSS THE U.S.A. ON THE GREEN TORTOISE - 18 SEPT. TO 7 OCT.1993

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LEADUP - July to Sept.1993

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	Ever since my first Green Tortoise experience in the Summer of
1990, I've been boring anyone who seemed remotely interested in
listening about this fantastic bus company that takes you from
San Francisco to Boston in 14 days, and goes to places that no
ordinary tourist would ever have any chance of finding. I knew
after that trip that next time I went to the States, I would
have to do another Tortoise excursion. This year I finally got
the chance.

	The trip I booked onto was essentially the same one that I had
done 3 years previous, the coast to coast "Sunny Southern Route"
taking in the last 2 weeks of September. By mid-July, I had
booked my flights with Trailfinders, flying KLM from Glasgow to
San Francisco via Amsterdam then home from Boston. Once
everything was confirmed, the excitement began to set in, and I
started counting down the days.

	The day before I was due to leave, I finished work a little
early and went out to Glasgow Airport to meet my Mom, who was
just returning from a holiday in Tenerife. It gave me the chance
to confirm that my flight at 6:00 the next morning was on time.
We spent an hour and a half over coffee before heading home, my
Mom to Armadale and me to the Scotia Bar, where I was meeting my
friends for a last pre-holiday drink. I'd spent the previous
couple of nights packing my rucksacks and apart from a couple of
small items, I thought I was all set to go. I got home from the
pub at 12:30am intending to stay awake through the night until
my taxi picks me up at 4:00. Little did I know what kind of a
start I'd really have to my vacation.....



DAY 1 - Saturday, 18 Sept. - Glasgow/Amsterdam/San Francisco

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	4:30am, Allison St.,Glasgow - In my semi-conscious state I
thought I could hear a motor running. I gradually began to
realise that I was sitting in my living room with lights and TV
on, and a half-empty cup of coffee balanced precariously on the
arm of my settee. Once my brain had assimilated these strands of
information into something a bit more comprehensible, I realised
that I'd fallen asleep and that the motor was the sound of my
taxi. I ran half dressed down the stairs to tell the driver what
had happened and that I'd be out as soon as I could.
Fortunately, the driver couldn't have been nicer about things.
He'd already been waiting about 20 minutes, but seeing my lights
on, and knowing that it was an airport hire, he just sat back to
read his paper, figuring that I was just putting together a few
last minute items. The taxi secured, I ran back up the stairs to
do just that.

	When I finally got to the airport I found that I actually had
plenty of time. So much so that after checking in, I found I
could manage a last pint of Guinness in the departure lounge.
From a beer point of view, if I'd thought about what was ahead
of me over the next 2 1/2 weeks, I'd probably have forced
another couple over my throat in the 20 minutes I had to kill.
As it was, I decided that this would be a good time to start my
diary.

	My friend Ann had very kindly loaned me her camera and a
dictaphone for my trip, knowing that I had every intention of
taking some very detailed notes in order to help me out with
this journal. I didn't think using a dictaphone would be so
difficult, but when I began talking into the thing, I started to
become very self-conscious , and felt that for some strange
reason everyone in the lounge had nothing better to do than go
completely silent and stare at me. After about 10 minutes of
trying to overcome this, I gave up. The dictaphone went back
into my rucksack, and wasn't going to emerge again until I was
back in Glasgow 3 weeks later.

	On the first leg of my journey, I was flying AirUK to
Amsterdam, where I had a 6 hour wait before my flight to San
Francisco departed. I wasn't quite as nervous as I thought I
would be, and after a fairly pleasant 1 hour flight we landed at
Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam. I'd been told by people that had
been here before that I wouldn't have any trouble whiling away a
few hours. Apart from the gates, the international terminal at
Schiphol is one massive duty-free shop where you can buy
anything from surgical instruments to pornographic videos or
from cigarettes to state-of-the-art computers. After an hour or
two of browsing, my lack of sleep (and a Guinness hangover)
started catching up with me, so I found a comfy sofa to stretch
out on for a short nap before the long 13 hour haul to San Fran.
The rest did me a world of good, and after a quick wash, a
coffee and a ham roll, I was ready for my flight.

	Once again, my nerves seemed to be pretty much in check as the
747 took off. I was beginning to think that maybe I was starting
to overcome my phobia about takeoffs. Only time would tell. I
had a window seat for a short time, next to a German guy who
could hardly speak any English. About an hour into the flight,
the steward asked us both if we would mind moving to other seats
in order to allow a couple who'd found themselves in separate
seats the chance to sit together. I had no problem with this,
and ended up in the middle section with 2 Irish girls to my left
and an American chap and his wife to my right. Before long, we
were all chatting away and I was thinking that the time would
soon pass by. Shortly after I got settled in, the food and drink
started to flow, and to be honest, for the next 11 hours it
never really stopped! Drinks, snack, fruit juice, drinks, lunch
(with wine), coffee, hot towels, drinks, snack, drinks, fruit
juice, dinner (again with wine), liqueurs, coffee, hot towels,
drinks. Or something like that (I think there might have been a
few more drinks in there, but who's counting?).  

	We landed in San Francisco about 5:30pm local time. I walked
out of the door of the airport to be hit by sunshine and a
temperature in the mid-70's. Quite a change from the chill of a
Glasgow morning. An airport to downtown shuttle service was
waiting outside looking for one more passenger. For $10 it would
take me straight to the Fort Mason Youth Hostel, my first stop
in the States. Being on my own and the last person to board the
bus, I got the front seat. Besides myself, all the other
passengers on the van were German. The driver was a young
Ukrainian guy, very friendly and talkative. He still had quite a
thick accent, which I'm sure he used to his own advantage in
striking up conversations. Along the way, the talk was mostly
about football and the World Cup, so naturally I tried to say as
little as possible. Unfortunately, the Scots 5-0 defeat by
Portugal was brought up, at which point I pretended to be
asleep. The drive took about an hour, stopping at various hotels
along the way to drop off and pick up other travellers. I
finally reached the Youth Hostel about 7:30.

	The Fort Mason Youth Hostel is probably the best one that I've
been in anywhere. Despite the fact that its only a 5 minute walk
from Fisherman's Wharf, it stands on a great little bit of
tree-lined parkland which overlooks the Bay and the Golden Gate
Bridge. Its immaculately clean, the kitchen is brilliant, and
the staff are very laid back and friendly. And best of all,
there's no curfew! I got myself booked in, had a shower, then
started thinking about my stomach. There was a 24-hour Safeway
just across the park, so I thought I'd get myself the makings
for a chicken curry which would also do me the next night. After
spending ages drooling over the prices of things as compared to
what they are in Scotland, I set about getting my food together.
Let's see now. Chicken. No problem there. Onions? Easy. Rice?
Yep. Now all I need is a tin of curry sauce and maybe some
poppadoms. They must have a few shelves of Indian style foods
somewhere. Down here? Nope. How 'bout round the corner. Uh uh.
A-Ha. Oriental foods. Must be next to that. No? Excuse me, can
you tell me where...What do you mean you don't have...But
Safeway in Scotland has...Oh forget it. I bought a frozen pizza,
a couple of apples, and a quart of milk. So much for being
adventurous. Apparently they don't really go in for curries much
around these parts. Oh well.

	After dinner, I spotted a notice advertising a free walking
tour of the Haight/Ashbury district, leaving the Hostel at 9:00
the next morning. I'd been wondering about which parts of the
city I was going to tour through the day, and that was the first
on my list. I relaxed in the lounge with a newspaper for an
hour, then had a fairly early night, bringing to an end my first
day, and a very long one at that! 



DAY 2 - Sunday, 19th Sept. - San Francisco

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	Sunday morning was beautiful. It was clear and sunny, the
temperature in the high 60's, and the view across the bay was
great. I did my morning hostel chore (put out the garbage) and
headed down to the kitchen. It was there that I noticed a sign
with two of my three favourite words on it - "free" and "coffee"
(I'll leave the third one to your imagination). Breakfast
consisted of a couple of apples, a bowl of cereal from the free
food shelf, and a gallon of hot black java. It was touch and go
as to whether or not I went on the walking tour, as I had also
found that there was an all day concert in Golden Gate Park
featuring Peter Gabriel and Crowded House among others. I
decided though, that I'd rather see the city.

	I met the group for the Haight tour in the foyer. Considering
the type of day it was, I expected quite a few people, but as it
turned out there were only four of us, including the girl
conducting the tour (I wish I could remember her name). My
fellow "tourists" were an American guy and Ellie, a young
English girl.

	Normally we would have used public transport to get to Haight,
but as there were so few of us, the American guy offered to
drive us down. The tour itself was excellent, concentrating
firstly on the architecture of the area, then leading on to its
history focussing mainly, of course, on the hippie movement from
the 60's onwards. The tour finished up on Haight Street itself,
where we went for an ice cream in a place called Ben & Jerry's.
Apparently these two guys had set up their ice cream business in
the late 60's and still donate some of their profits to
environmental groups. I had a "Rainforest Crunch" cone which was
excellent. Ellie, who had been in town for 3 or 4 days now,
offered to show me around Chinatown in the afternoon, so after
checking out Haight Street, we headed downtown. 

	I made my first major purchase of the trip in a jeans shop on
Market St. A pair of Lee jeans for $11. Prices here are
unbelievable. Chinatown is only a short walk from Market St. As
we got into the area, we came across a Salvation Army street
service with a difference. Everyone taking part was oriental.
This came as a slight culture shock to me as I'd never imagined
orientals to be anything other than Buddhists or some other
eastern religion. Some of the songs they were singing had
familiar tunes, but it was kind of weird to hear them sung in
what I presume was Chinese. After wandering about for a while,
we headed for Fisherman's Wharf for something to eat. 

	Fisherman's Wharf is very much a tourist trap, the kind of
place I usually try to avoid. However, we roamed around for an
hour or so, had a bowl of clam chowder, than went to see the
seals which frequent the waters around the Wharf. About this
time Ellie decided to head back to the hostel to get her things
together as she was flying home the next morning. I thought I'd
go for a beer, and ended up in a place called Lou's, where there
was a band playing some good blues. A couple bottles of Sam
Adams later I headed back to the hostel too. 

	I picked up a local events guide from the hostel foyer and
headed down to the kitchen for a bite to eat. During dinner, I
was casually flipping through the paper trying to find something
worthwhile to do on my last night in San Francisco. I was just
about to turn another page when my eye was drawn to a familiar
name - John Martyn. He was playing that evening not too far from
the hostel at 8:00. It was 7:00 now, so I got my skates on, had
a quick shower, ran outside and caught a bus down to a place
called The Great American Music Hall. I paid my $10 admission 
and went in. It was a neat little venue holding about 250-300
people, and featured tables with waitress service. Very
civilized concert going! The surprising thing was that it was
fairly full. I didn't think that many people over here had heard
of old John. He played a great set consisting totally of older
songs. After the first one, I couldn't help myself and shouted
out "Gau'n yirsel',John!". I had to let him know he had some
support from Scotland here. Just for a moment he dropped his
anglified accent to say "Aye, Cheers! Howzit' gau'n?". Most of
the audience hadn't a clue about what was said in this exchange.
I sat back to enjoy the rest of the gig. In between songs, I got
chatting with a guy I was sharing a table with. He was an
American named Tal who had been very much into the British folk
scene since the mid-70's. He'd visited Britain (including
Scotland) back then, heard a few things and was hooked. We
chatted about music in general and had a couple of beers.

	After the gig, we went on to a pub called the 20 Tank Brewery,
which brewed its own beer on the premises. I had a few fantastic
pints of porter, while we talked politics, music, and travel.
All in all, a great last night in San Fran. The pub closed and I
jumped into a cab, getting back to the hostel about 1:30am.
Tomorrow was Tortoise Day!





DAY 3 - Monday, 20th September - San Francisco to Los Angeles

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	Somehow, I managed to get up about 7:30. I guess it was
probably the excitement of the trip ahead that did it. I got all
my stuff together, did my morning chore (swept the front porch),
and popped out to Safeway for a paper. On returning to the
hostel, I went down to the kitchen for a bite to eat and copious
amounts of coffee (I didn't realise it at the time, but this was
to set a trend for me). I wasn't in any real hurry. I had to
meet the Tortoise at 10:00 and it was only about 8:15. I went
out back for one last look across the Bay. It was another
beautiful morning, and everything was well with the world.

	I caught a bus from outside the hostel down to 1st and Natoma,
the meeting place. There were already a couple of people there.
Over the next half-hour more and more arrived, by car, by taxi,
and by foot. Eventually, there were 24 passengers, a big
difference from my first Tortoise trip when there were 37. I
thought "Great! I'll have room to maneuver this time!". We
started to chat and introduce ourselves to our fellow travellers
to be. During this time, I met Jennifer, Nuala, Tegan, Mike the
Unmarried (Who shall be known as Mike(2)),Sonya, Sae, Amanda,
Demelza, and Angus. Then came the moment we were all waiting
for. The bus arrived! When the drivers got off, I couldn't
believe it. One of them was Gaunt, who had been a driver on my
previous trip! He still looked the same as in my old photos with
one exception. Now he had dreadlocks. We spent the next hour or
so loading up the bus, then got aboard. I jumped on and grabbed
a seat on one of the front benches. I knew it wasn't really in
the spirit of Tortoise travel to claim a spot, but I wanted to
have a good place from which to see where we were going. Gaunt
and our other driver, Peter, first introduced themselves, then
the bus, which was known as "The Ark". They then laid down the
ground rules for life on the bus, and established the "Buddy
Check" system. This involves introducing yourself to 3 people
other than those in your own party, and always making sure that
they're on the bus before it leaves anywhere. My buddies were
Sonya, Sae, and Mike(2). Finally, everything was all set, and
shortly before 12 noon, the Green Tortoise was on the road!

	Within minutes of leaving, Gaunt put on a tape that was to
become the bane of my life. Connected by the Stereo MC's. As I
type this, its the 18th of October, and I still can't get that
bloody music out of my head!

	Our first stop was Santa Cruz, just a few miles down the coast,
where we had the chance to pick up a few bits and pieces. We
arrived to find the weather a little iffy. It was cloudy with a
cool, fresh breeze. For me, it was the first beer stop. It was
still very early in the holiday, and as I was feeling a bit
flush financially, I picked up a 12-pack of Miller's Genuine
Draft, at about $8.50 one of the more expensive of the ordinary
American beers. We also picked up ice for the coolers. After
about an hour, we left Santa Cruz, and headed for Pinnacles, a
National Monument featuring huge redwoods. We were due to arrive
there late afternoon to do some hiking before our first cookout
meal.

	Soon after leaving Santa Cruz, I introduced some of my fellow
inmates to the game of Nomination Trumps, which had proved to be
a very popular game on my last trip. It soon became a regular
feature of the Green Tortoise Card School.

	We soon arrived at Pinnacles National Monument, and immediately
found ourselves accosted by a couple of deer. They were
obviously very used to people feeding them, because they kept
their distance until someone came off the bus with some food.
Then they came right up and would eat right out of your hand.
After a short time, we set off to do some walking. The paths
through the park are loops of various length. We'd been asked to
try to be back in about 2 hours, so the idea was to do one of
the shorter loops. Unfortunately, the paths aren't very well
marked, so what happened? Yeah, you got it. A bunch of us got
lost. We'd sort of naturally split into a number of smaller
groups, and somehow our little group of five or six, which
consisted, if I remember right, of Jennifer, Amanda, Demelza,
and Emily, managed to find its way onto a path that just kept on
going...and going...and going... and going...  "Once we get
round this next ridge, we're bound to start heading back." I
lost track of the number of times we said that. We kept trooping
on however, and soon met up with Isobelle and Maria. Eventually,
we came to a junction of three paths which was signposted.
Great, we thought. At last we'll get on the right trail. I had a
close look at the sign. Then I picked it up. Lifted the damn
thing right off the ground. It wasn't even fixed down!
Basically, the post could be turned any number of ways and look
right. So we were still lost. We decided on a trail which we
thought headed in generally the right direction, and off we went
once again. Half an hour later, we arrived at a clearing where 4
or 5 paths met, and where we found another sign. This one was a
bit more helpful in that it pointed us in the right direction.
Unfortunately, it also told us that we were 5 miles away from
where we should be. Amazingly, within 10 minutes of us finding
this clearing, 3 other groups found it too, a couple of them
coming from paths other than the one we'd come down! We'd all
managed to get lost, but by some quirk of fate had all found our
way to this same spot at almost exactly the same time. The sun
had almost set by this time and it would soon be dark, so we
didn't waste too much time in setting off for home. It wasn't
long before a few of us realised that there was no chance of
getting our group, which by now was about 15 strong, back to the
bus before dark. Angus, Tegan, Martin and myself decided to jog
in. The trees were so tall and dense that it would be pitch dark
very soon, and it wouldn't be to difficult to really get lost.
We thought we'd try to get back quick so that we could alert the
park rangers if necessary. By the time we got back, you could
hardly see your hand in front of your face. We found Gaunt,
Peter, and a few of the others just starting to prepare that
evening's meal. I was really pretty worried about the rest of
the group, who I reckoned must have been about an hour back, and
suggested that we get the rangers out right away. Gaunt and
Peter thought that we should maybe wait for a while. Was I
overreacting or were they not being cautious enough? As it was,
the rangers just happened along anyway. They took their jeep out
into the woods to try to provide some light and noise for the
walkers to head towards. About an hour after we got back, they
finally found their way out of the woods, and our first
adventure of the trip had come to an end. The walk did claim one
victim though. While we were jogging back, Tegan went over on
her ankle, twisting it pretty badly. It wasn't to heal before
the end of the trip. The rangers stayed and joined us for our
first meal. After clearing up, we made up "The Miracle", the
Tortoise term for folding down the front seats and putting the
inside of the bus into sleep mode. Then it was back on the road
again.

	We would drive through the night, passing through
Victorville,California, the self-proclaimed "Artichoke Capitol
of the World" (surely to be one of the highlights of the trip),
stopping only to pick up 3 people in Bakersfield near Los
Angeles. We got there about 4am (a few hours late thanks to our
fun in the woods), and picked up Mike and April, and Karl.
Almost everyone was asleep when the new folk got on. Mike and
April managed to squeeze their way onto the mattresses, but
Karl, who I think just didn't want to wake anyone by climbing
over them, spent an uncomfortable night sleeping on top of the
beer cooler. Later in the holiday, there was every possibility
that someone might end up sleeping IN the beer cooler.





DAY 4 - Tuesday, 21st September - Deep Creek Hot Springs

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	I got up shortly after the new passengers got on the bus.
Although I'd walked about 12-14 miles the previous day, I didn't
feel all that sleepy. I sat up front and chatted to Gaunt for a
couple of hours. The Tortoise drivers appreciate someone to talk
to when they're driving through the night and in the early
hours. I was interested to hear what he'd been up to these past
few years. We drank coffee, ate some sandwiches, and chewed the
fat about all sorts of subjects while watching the sun rise over
the California desert. Gradually, more and more people started
to come to, and before too long we pulled into a forest, parked
the Ark,and set about making breakfast. One of the great Green
Tortoise traditions is Coffee. Strong. Lots of it. And as often
as possible. After 4 coffees, fruit juice, muesli, fresh fruit
salad, and a generous helping of Gaunt's Extra-Special Hash
Browns, I was ready to face whatever the day would bring.

	I'd already put away a couple beers earlier that morning while
chatting to Gaunt, so I just continued on that tack. I think I
sort of established my reputation with the rest of the bus that
morning. From now on, I'd be portrayed as Mr.Beer. OK, so I
drank quite a bit of the stuff, but I'm sure that if people
really think about it, they would have to agree that they only
saw me drunk a couple of times during the whole trip. Still, a
reputation, even a poor one, is good to have. It means that
people will remember you! After breakfast, a few of us took the
opportunity to use the shovel for the first time. Using the
shovel, for the uneducated, is the recommended way of having a
crap in the woods in the USA. Dig a hole 8 to 10 inches deep, do
your business in it, drop your paper in too, and cover it up
again. Mother Nature does the rest. I always embellished my work
by dropping in an acorn as well. Give a tree a good start in
life. When it came time to hit the road, we found we had a small
problem. Gaunt had parked the bus in a clearing just off the
forest road. It turns out that a tree was preventing us from
turning back on to the road and down the hill in the direction
we wanted to go. A shallow ditch at the roadside added to the
problem. Peter was driving, and asked everyone to get off the
bus while he negotiated the ditch. With everybody off, Peter did
what no one expected. He put his foot down and gunned the bus
over the ditch, taking out half the road and I'm sure a lot of
the underside of the bus with it. Then he decided to reverse a
couple hundred yards down the hill to try to find a spot to turn
around. Typical. I hadn't bothered putting any shoes on, as I
thought we'd be getting right back aboard. Painfully, I picked
my way down towards the bus, much to the amusement of my new
"friends" (Thanks, folks!). We finally got turned and headed
off. 

	About mid-morning, we headed for Deep Creek Hot Springs in
Southern California. You really have to know where this place
is, or there's absolutely no way you'd find it! The bus can only
drive to within a couple of miles of the hot springs themselves.
To get to them, you have to hike through the desert, where the
temperature can easily reach the high 90's-low 100's. 

	 A small group of about 4 or 5 of us were the first to set out
and after a short while Mike(2) and me found ourselves at the
springs, a little ahead of the others. The springs themselves
are lithium heated. The water is forced up through the rocks
into small pools, and flows down into lower pools before
eventually pouring into the larger river pool. The pools range
from very hot to tepid. One of the interesting things about Deep
Creek is that because its out in the middle of nowhere, and on
private land, the general rule is "Clothing Optional". Last time
I was here, it took a while for those people (myself included)
who hadn't been on a Tortoise trip before to let their
inhibitions go. Considering the number of English people on the
bus (They're generally regarded as being a bit self -conscious),
it would be interesting to see how long it would take this time.
I stripped off, dove straight in and hit the hot pool right
away. It was great. The rest of the team made it down and soon
everyone was enjoying themselves swimming, and getting some sun.
It was a very warm afternoon. Just as I thought, the only people
to go nude at first were those who'd been on a previous Tortoise
trip, but gradually, as the day wore on, a few more began to
realise that no one really cared and started to get a little
"braver". Early in the afternoon, Gaunt mentioned to me that
there were so many folk wearing swimsuits that he hoped no one
thought he was some kind of pervert. It was here that I made my
worst mistake of the holiday. I hardly put any suntan lotion on
all day and badly burned my back and shoulders. For the next few
days, I sure wouldn't be taking my shirt off. After a good day,
I was starting to feel a little tired and decided to head back
to the bus. Armed with a bottle of water and my walkman, I set
off on the long uphill hike back. It took me about twice as long
to walk back as it did for me to get there in the first place.
By the time I reached the bus, I was very dehydrated and felt
quite ill. I'd probably just gotten far too much sun. I drank
some ice water then lay down in a shady part of the bus for a
while. After a couple hours of rest, I was feeling quite a bit
better. Pretty soon, most everyone was back and dinner as well
under way. Tonight's meal was gazpacho, guacamole, and tortillas
filled with cheese and salad. And of course, COFFEE! During the
meal, we were listening to my 60's compilation tape on the bus
stereo, which seemed to go down pretty well. We took our time
putting away all the gear and hung around for a while before
leaving. A short way down the road we made another beer stop. By
this time, I'd remembered that American beer all tastes pretty
much the same to me, so I made a point of buying the cheapest
they had. It was a fruity little brew called Milwaukee's Best.
At $4.40 for a dozen, the price was certainly the best. Can't
really say the same for the beer though. If this is Milwaukee's
Best, I dread to think what they do with their worst! We set off
to drive through the night. Tomorrow we'd be in Arizona.





DAY 5 - Wed.,22nd Sept. - Organ Pipe Nat.Mon./Saguaro Nat.Mon.

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	If its Wednesday, it must be Arizona. We woke up this morning
to find ourselves making our way through southwestern Arizona,
heading for  Organ Pipe National Monument. On the way, we passed
through a town outside of which was an amazing "Aircraft
Graveyard" that I'd seen featured many times on TV. Seeing it
for real was quite a sight. Lined up here in the middle of the
desert were the cannibalised carcasses of all kinds of airliners
- 747's, 707's, DC8's, DC10's. I even spotted a Lockheed
Constellation, something I'd never seen before in my life. When
I was a kid, I was a pretty avid plane spotter, and this brought
back a lot of memories for me.

	We arrived at Organ Pipe fairly early, before 9 I think.
Breakfast this morning started with 2 cans of beer, followed by
fruit juice, fruit salad, pancakes with cream and maple syrup,
and about 5 cups of hot black coffee. By this time, Jeri had
become established as my favourite coffee maker, and she knew
it! Every morning from now on she would supply me with my daily
caffeine rush. It wasn't even 10:00 yet, but the temperature
already must have been over 90. The morning plan was to hike to
some old nearby mine workings. I was still feeling a bit drained
from the previous day, so I decided to opt out. So did Tegan,
Jennifer, Amanda, Demelza, and Tracy. Peter, our other driver,
didn't go on the hike either. He had injured his ankle on the
morning the bus left San Francisco and didn't want to strain it
too much. He did have his bike with him though, and decided to
test his ankle by cycling down to Mexico, just a few miles down
the road. While the others hiked, we relaxed, listened to some
music, played some cards, threw a frisbee, and pounded some
beers. Once everyone got back, we headed off to drive through
the afternoon. We made a stop at a supermarket to pick up a few
supplies (i.e. more beer AND a bottle of vodka and some bloody
mary mix). Gaunt had heard of a place in Saguaro National
Monument where we could make dinner and do some swimming. We had
some trouble finding it but eventually got there in the evening,
just after dark. The swimming wasn't up to much. A few went in,
but to me the water looked pretty black and uninviting. I
relaxed with a bloody mary and a couple beers, while helping to
prepare the evening meal. It was Greek night tonight. Tabouli,
Felafel, Pitta bread and tossed salad with feta cheese. After
dinner, I took the chance to use the on site toilets. The
toilets here didn't feature running water. They were clean and
tidy enough, but instead of doing your business into water, you
plopped it through a little flap  in the bottom of the bowl
which led down into a septic tank. There were no lights here
either, but thanks to a borrowed flashlight, I could at least
make sure I sat in the right place. Anyway, while I was sitting
there contemplating life, the universe, and where I might be
able to get some decent beer, I sensed some movement on the
floor to my left. I focussed the light just in time to spot a
scorpion scurry round and stop about a foot and a half in front
of me. We stared each other down for a while, and I guess I must
have had the meaner look, 'cause he just turned and shot
straight under the door. Coward. After my fracas with the local
insects, we got back on the bus and set off to drive through the
night to New Mexico. Our route took us firstly through Tucson,
where we were due to stop for gas. By the time we neared Tucson,
everyone had bedded down and fallen asleep. Unfortunately, we
soon got a pretty frightening wake up call . I was sleeping
right at the front of the forward platform. While I was dozing I
heard Gaunt, who was driving, say "Shit... SHIT!!", followed by
a couple of solid bangs. I woke to find myself covered in small
shards of glass. It turns out as we approached the exit ramp to
the truck stop, Gaunt spotted some guys running across the road.
He thought they were illegal aliens on the run, but as we made
our way down the slip road, they appeared again and let fly with
a couple of bricks. One hit the front window on the passenger
side, spraying me. The other hit a side window, covering Sonya,
who was asleep on the table/bed. If her window had been open,
the brick itself would have hit her. As it was she slept right
through the whole thing! We pulled into the Truck Stop and spent
the next hour cleaning up the mess and taping up the windows.
They wouldn't get fixed properly until we reached El Paso.
Excitement over, we headed off into the night again......

DAY 6 - Thursday, 23rd Sept. - Gila National Monument, New Mexico

-----------------------------------------------------------------



	Today, we visited Gila Cliff Dwellings. Cliffside caves
inhabited by natives some 1000 years ago. It was a short hike up
to the caves. Along the way there were numbered rocks indicating
points of interest corresponding to a guide available at the
ranger station. Tegan acted as our tour guide ("No.6, Tegan!",
"OK, No.6. Blah, Blah, Blah....."). The caves themselves were
really spectacular, one of them containing as many as 40
identified rooms. There was a park ranger up at the caves who
gave us a talk on the history of the caves and of the people who
lived in them. He wasn't just mundanely reciting a rehearsed
speech, either. The man was really into the whole thing. He even
admitted to sometimes coming up to the caves at nighttime when,
according to him, he can feel a special ambience about the
place. There are some theories that the caves were some sort of
religious centre to the natives. The ranger felt that he could
see why. As we headed down the path away from the caves, the
view down the valley opened up. Very few people realise just how
green this area can be.

	We left Gila mid-afternoon, and drove for about an hour or so
to a riverside park where we were planning to camp out for the
night. We parked in an isolated spot right next to a beautiful,
shallow, rocky river. Almost everybody took the chance to have a
wash in the river. By this time, we were looking and smelling a
bit grotty, some more than others! I have to admit, it felt good
to have a shave, and to wash my various nooks and crannies.

	Feeling more like a man and less like a particularly unhygienic
skunk, I lent a hand to prepare the evening meal (Just one, mind
you. The other had a beer in it). Tonight's meal was brilliant,
featuring candied yams, pan-baked cornbread, guacamole, and
salad. After eating, everyone kind of relaxed for an hour,
catching up on diaries, chatting, gathering wood for our
campfire, or just spending a precious few moments alone with
their thoughts, something you don't often get the chance to do
on the Tortoise. 

	Darkness soon fell. We pulled the cooler off the bus (for easy
access!), lit the fire, drew up some logs and settled into a
great night. I cracked open a beer, and mixed up a couple of
bloody marys as Karl wanted to give one a try. He took a sip and
decided it wasn't for him. Camilla, on the other hand, wasn't
too long in deciding it was for her. Sold. Peter got his guitar
out, and played some nice blues. His guitar was very precious to
him. It was some 20-odd years old and looked it, but it had a
beautiful, full tone. Thanks to the morning spent at Organ Pipe,
some of the crew knew that I could play a couple of chords and
asked me to do a song. I managed to busk my way through "It
Never Rains In Southern California", "This Land Is Your Land",
and "Sloop John-B", before passing the box over to Jack. Jack
turned out to be a very good guitarist, and along with Katarzina
gave us some Polish folk songs. He tried to pass the guitar back
to me, but I was starting to feel the effects of the beer and
bloody marys. Somebody asked for American Pie. I struggled
through the opening slow verse, but gave it up after the first
chorus, and went for it unaccompanied. I kind of amazed myself
in that I actually remembered all the verses for the first time
in years! At the end of the song, I put Peter's guitar back in
its flight case and set it down behind me. Karl was next up.
Being from New Zealand, the crowd naturally asked him to do the
Haka, the Maori war chant done by the All-Blacks rugby team
before every match. He had a good go at it and drew an
appreciative round of applause, enough to encourage him into an
encore. This time he wanted some audience participation, and
showed us a silly dance that would become our own war cry over
the rest of the trip. It was a crazy little repetitive thing
called Roostersha (I think), in which you go through various
contortions, the final aim of which is to get you looking
somewhat like a chicken. Believe me, doing it and singing it is
a lot more fun than it sounds. 

	I was beginning to think it was time for another beer, so I got
up and turned towards the cooler. Then I took the single worst
step that I was to take during the whole vacation. I stood right
on Peter's guitar. I'd completely forgotten it was there.
Momentary panic filled my mind, until I noticed that it was
safely tucked away in its flight case. Thank God! Still, it was
a pretty stupid thing to do, and I couldn't apologise enough to
Peter. To his credit, he realised it was a complete accident,
but I'm sure he rested a lot easier after he'd stowed it back on
the bus!

	Meanwhile, back at the campfire, time was pressing on, and a
few folk were starting to drag mattresses out of the bus and
bedding down. Gaunt strung up a great hammock that he had with
him. He looked really comfy, and more than one person was
jealous. I can't remember how we got into it, but somehow Nuala,
Karen (the Scot), and myself got into a bit of a political
debate. Nuala, it turned out was a Tory supporter, and Karen and
myself, both of us having more socialist views and more than a
few drinks in us, sort of verbally attacked her (Well, not her
personally. Just her viewpoints). Poor Nuala. I don't think she
was quite prepared for such opposition.

	Somehow, I managed to end up with a short cushion, but good
ol'' Tegan came to the rescue, suggesting I put it alongside hers

to form a bigger mattress we could both fit on to (!). We lay
there and chatted for a while. A few nights earlier, I was lying
next to her on the bus, intrigued at the fact that she was
staring out into the night sky. When I asked her why, she said
that she was looking for a shooting star. She was desperate to
see one. Tonight, she was still looking. This time though, she'd
got me hooked. Before I knew it, I was lying on my back, looking
up and scanning the stars, albeit a little hazily for obvious
reasons (Milwaukee has a lot to answer for).



















DAY 7 - Friday, 24th Sept. - El Paso,Texas/Juarez,Mexico

--------------------------------------------------------

	When I woke up this morning, I felt like an extra in "Platoon".
The fire was still smouldering, discarded beer cans, bottles and
bodies were scattered all over the place. Even  the bus, with
its various shades of green paintwork, had a kind of "jungle
warfare" look about it.

	I dragged myself into the world of the living, brought Tegan a
coffee, had one myself, then along with a couple of others, set
about Operation CleanUp. By the time we'd bagged most of the
rubbish, everyone was up, and breakfast was well under way.
Today it was french toast and refried yams, as well as the usual
fruit salad and coffee. After breakfast, I began to feel the
need for some time on my own, just to gather my thoughts and go
over a few things in my mind.  I wandered along the river a bit,
found a big rock , and sat down for a while. It was about this
time that I was starting to feel that I wanted to do more, much
more, of this sort of thing. It had been so long since I'd been
away from all the pressures of work, mortgages, and social
expectations that I'd almost forgotten what else there was in
the world. So many things to do, places to see, people to meet
and friends to make. The days were passing too quickly. Tomorrow
I'd be one third of the way through the trip. Already?! I was
just starting to settle into a neat little depression when Tracy
came along and saved me. Her arrival snapped me back into
reality. We sat for a while and chatted about this and that. I
don't know if it was a conscious effort on her part, but I had
noticed that she seemed to try to spend a little bit of time on
her own each day. Reminded me of myself in a way. Being part of
the crowd is a lot of fun, but now and again you've gotta get
your own shit together. 

	By about noon, the bus was loaded up, and set out to drive
through the afternoon to El Paso, Texas, where we would cross
the border for a night out in Meheeco. We arrived in El Paso at
exactly 4:45pm. I remember because we were getting the windows
of the bus repaired here, and got to the shop just before it
closed. Angus and myself took the opportunity to nick across the
street to a 7-11 and pick up another couple of cases of beer.
Windows repaired, we headed down towards the Mexican border,
parked the bus and walked over the bridge to the border town of
Juarez. Just over the bridge we stopped for a group photo,
managing to block the pedestrian entrance for a few moments, to
the annoyance and amusement of the locals (Look at dee stupeed
Greengos!). We made arrangements to meet up at a burrito stand
next to the local market in about an hour and a half, and split
up to do some shopping. 

	I had absolutely no intention of buying anything. I already
knew that I was going to have a problem with space in my
rucksack. I was overpacked and still had to buy jeans, baseball
cards, and a basketball. Unfortunately, I got my eye on a
blanket. I wanted it. Once I'd talked the guy down from $25 to
$10, it was mine. I'd worry about space later. Sonya, Tegan, and
Sae were in the shop next door looking at hammocks. I thought
I'd like a hammock, too (Dammit, Glenn! Space! Think about your
space!). Oh bugger it. In for a penny.... Sonya, Tegan, and
myself swung a deal with the guy and got three hammocks for $21.
Sae spent a little more ($12 or $15, I think) and got a double
woven nylon hammock. Later on, I began to wish that I'd gone the
extra few bucks and got one of those too. Oh well. C'est la vie!
We moved on to other shops where both Tegan and Sonya bought
blankets, too. Tegan's was identical to mine, however, she paid
$15 for hers. When I told her I'd only paid $10 for mine, she
was a bit annoyed at me for not saying anything at the time. I
was feeling kind of guilty, so when we got the burrito stand, I
tried to make amends by buying the food.

	Burritos finished, we headed for the nearest booze shop to pick
up some tequila for the bus party that was bound to happen that
night. I got a litre and a half bottle of Cuervo for the
equivalent of ú2.75. Unreal.

	Next on the agenda was a boozer. There were two factions among
our group. One wanted to go dancing, while the other just wanted
to find a bar where you could sit and chat and maybe listen to a
little music. On the main drag through Juarez, we found both
these kinds of places right next door to each other. Problem
solved. As you'll probably have guessed, I was among the second
group. Gaunt, Jeri, Sara, Jennifer, and myself went into the bar
and got some drinks in. There was a keyboard player to provide
some sounds, and I was happy. By all accounts, the disco next
door was pretty crap and our people soon started to drift in to
join us. Tegan came in, and I bought her a strawberry margarita,
still feeling guilty about the blanket incident. While we were
here, we took advantage of the fact that when you get beer in
Mexico, they give  you some half limes to go with it. We built
up a little stockpile to take back to the bus with us for
slammers later on. Everyone seemed to be happy and having a good
time. Once again, though, none of us was aware of the
mini-dramas that were about to unfold in the next half hour. 

	Drama number one began in the bar itself. It seems that some of
the girls were enticed into the place on the promise of $1
margaritas. When they went to pay their bill, they felt they'd
been overcharged, and questioned it. The whole thing escalated
to the extent that Gaunt (who speaks fluent Spanish) felt he had
to step in to help. Apparently, the barman had used "premium"
liquor in their drinks, and not the cheaper stuff they usually
use for the $1 ones. He was trying to charge accordingly. April,
who was one of those involved, was a joy to watch. She was
sticking to her guns and was insisting that they should only be
paying a dollar. Next thing we knew the cops were involved, too.
In the end, I think they had to pay the extra, but what a good
fight they put up. Before leaving, they let us know that they
were heading for a bar just a short walk along the road that
they'd heard about. We arranged to meet there later.

	Drama number two began just shortly after the first one. It
turns out that Martin, who'd been in the disco next door, had
his bottle of booze stolen. He then spotted it on the table of
two local girls. He tried to get it back and of course the
inevitable argument started. Martin saw 2 cops passing by so he
rapped on the window and got them involved. He proved the bottle
was his by producing the receipt, which matched the price
sticker. The cops gave Martin his bottle back. He was happy and
thought that would be the end of it, but unfortunately, the cops
arrested the girls. I don't think Martin really expected that,
and he had to go with them to give a statement, all the while
getting a torrent of Spanish abuse from the girls. 

	Eventually, we all got back together again, and headed for the
bar down the street to join the others. The place was jumping.
It wasn't a disco though. There was a band, and everyone was
having a great time, especially the local guys, who targeted
every woman in our group and got them up to dance. The dancing
was real enthusiastic cheek to cheek stuff, too. It was pretty
funny to watch the reactions of some of the girls if the guys
tried to get a bit too friendly! I'm not much of a one for
dancing, but Karen the Scot managed to pull me up for a couple.
To be honest, I really enjoyed it!

	Unfortunately, the time was at hand to start heading back to
the Ark. It was a mild night, and the stroll back to the bus was
a pleasant one. We all got back in various states of disarray.
Nobody was too drunk (yet). First thing we did was "The
Miracle". No sooner was it finished and we were on our way than
the tequila was opened and the slammers dispensed. Before long,
a full blown bus party was on the go. Bob Marley was Jammin',
the Stereo MC's were getting themselves connected, James Brown
was feelin' good, and people were dancing and swinging
upside-down from the overhead handrails. Mike(2) went to use the
funnel, but mistakenly pulled out the fire extinguisher, setting
it off. We had yellow powder all over the floor at the front of
the bus. By the way, a quick word about the funnel. There's no
toilet on a Green Tortoise bus. However, behind a little door at
the front next to the steps, there is a funnel and hose which
provide a direct line to the road. If you're a man, and
desperate, you just whip out the funnel and go. Women use it
too, but generally they need to be considerably more desperate
than the men. Before too long,the tequila was finished and we
had to survive on beer (It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta
do it!). It was early morning before the last of the party
animals crashed.





DAY 8 - Sat., 25th Sept - Big Bend/Grassy Banks, Texas

------------------------------------------------------



	Big Bend is a fantastic place in which to wake up in the
morning, even if you do have a slight hangover. Actually, I was
amazed that I felt as well as I did after the night before. I
guess I should be thankful for small blessings, because today
was certainly not going to be an easy day. Today would see us
climb Emory Peak, a nearby mountain which stands at 7800 ft.,
before heading for Grassy Banks, another area of Big Bend, where
we would meet the westbound Tortoise for a riverside party on
the Rio Grande.

	We parked the bus near the Visitors Center at Big Bend, and
made breakfast. There was a small shop next to the center, where
I took the opportunity to buy a canteen and a pair of flip-up
sunglasses. Gradually, most everyone set off along the nearby
trails, some choosing the leisurely looping walk, others going
for the more strenuous climb up to Emory Peak. The last group to
set out was Sonya, Sae, Tegan and myself. Tegan was giving her
injured ankle its first real test today. 

	Despite the height, the walk to the peak was fairly easy, apart
from having to cope with the odd tarantula crossing the path. To
pass the time on the walk up, we played a game of Movie Quotes,
guessing the name of a film through a line quoted from it. A
short way from the top, we met Isobelle who seemed to think she
couldn't make it the rest of the way. I'm glad to say she
eventually did, following shortly behind us. The only tricky bit
was a scramble over some rocks at the top. It took us a good 2
or 3 hours to reach the peak, but once there we found it was
certainly worth it! The views were incredible. You could see for
miles and miles around 360 degrees. Gaunt mentioned that he was
particularly impressed by the number of people to get to the
top. He said he'd never seen such a large group from one bus
make it this far. We took the obligatory group photos, and after
about half an hour, started to head back down. We took about an
hour and a half to get back to the bus. By the time we got
there, though, I was completely knackered! I was beginning to
regret not getting out to do any proper walking this year. Once
everybody was back, we didn't waste too much time messing about,
and soon we were back on the road again.

	After a short drive, we came to a place called Study Butte
(pronounced Stoody Bute) which was essentially no more than a
general store and gas station stuck right out in the middle of
nowhere. When we arrived, though, we found the place to be
crawling with rednecks who had obviously come from somewhere! It
seems that they were having a party of sorts, and most of them
looked a bit worse for wear, drinkwise. As we sat there, we
could sense a real feeling of hostility, some bad vibes, from
them (Lookee here, boys! We got us one a them thar hippee
buses!). Peter, who had left the Visitor Center a while earlier
than us, met us here. Gaunt got the Ark gassed up, and we pulled
out of there pretty quick.

	Grassy Banks is an isolated camping area on the banks of the
Rio Grande in another part of Big Bend. While driving there, the
weather began to close in, and soon we had some torrential rain.
Flash floods were streaming across the road in quite a few
places. It was incredible to watch. Then just as suddenly as it
had started, it was over. The sun was out again, and I wouldn't
see rain again until I got back to Glasgow.

	We arrived at Grassy Banks in the late afternoon to find the
Westbound bus already there. We got parked and piled off. Beer
in hand, I immediately went down to check out the river. The
water was a tan colour due to the amount of sand in it. As I
strode down to the bank, I noticed that there were already a few
folk from the other bus in the water so I didn't even bother to
break my stride and walked right in to join them, fully clothed
complete with Milwaukee's Best. The water was warm and
wonderful. After a brief chat with the Westbound people, I
headed back up to our bus where more of them had congregated.
They were very jealous about the fact that we only had 29 on our
bus, while they had the full compliment of about 40, made up
mostly of English and Germans. 

	After talking to them for 5 or 10 minutes, I started to get the
swimming bug again. This time, I did things in a slightly more
traditional method. I took my towel down to the bank, got the
kit off and jumped in. It was round about this time that I
noticed the gray people on the opposite bank, then it dawned on
me. MUD! The Rio Grande actually forms the border between the
USA and Mexico, so by going over to the mud, I suppose
technically speaking, you become an illegal alien. I decided to
risk it (After all, we were out in the no-man's land here) and
swam across the river, which at this point is about 100ft. wide.
The current in the middle was a bit stronger than I expected and
not being the strongest of swimmers in the first place, I really
had to work hard to get there. Once across, I climbed up the
bank and through some reeds to were there was a secondary river
bed with no water, but some of the most luxuriant gray clay mud
you'll ever see in your life. The mud bathers had gathered in a
pool about 12' by 12' and about 5 to 6 feet deep. I jumped in to
join them. It was amazing. The top 6 inches or so was warm,
baked by the sun. But as you eased our body down into the pool,
you found that it was lovely and cool underneath. Most people in
the pool were nude, but one girl (I can't remember who) went in
with her bikini on. Somehow she lost her top in it. So from then
on it was all inhibitions to the wind! Soon, the pool was full.
A few folk tried their best to keep their head fairly clean, but
as soon as their back was turned, GLOOP!, mud pie right on the
napper. The mud matted in to your hair, and slimed its way into
every crevice on your body. You couldn't actually sink in to the
mud. You had to move and squirm and force your way down. Once
in, getting out proved to be a bit more difficult. There wasn't
anything to get a hold of to drag yourself out, and if someone
tried to give you a hand, you simply couldn't grip it because of
the slipperiness of the mud. After 2 hours of sheer decadence, I
crawled out of the mud and into the river to rinse off. That's
when you find out how difficult it is to get the stuff off your
back, and out of your ears, nose, and hair. To get back to the
bank opposite, you have to wade upstream a ways. As you swim
across, the current pulls you down to the bank you want to
arrive at. I dried off, and went back up to the bus. I got the
job of chopping the garlic for tonight's meal - a fantastic
pesto pasta dish, which I think was my favourite meal of the
whole trip. Just before dinner, we once again pulled the cooler
off the bus. After filling our plates Karl and me sat down on
it, but found that we were getting pestered every few seconds by
someone wanting to get into it (damned unthoughtful!). We
decided that we needed a password system. Between the two of us,
we came up with a winner. Scrote. If you didn't say that, we
wouldn't get up. This worked for a while, long enough at least
for us to finish our meal.

	We had a special post-meal treat tonight. After dinner
Cocktails. While in Mexico, Gaunt had bought everything needed
to make a fairly hefty batch of margaritas. The booze was mixed
in one of the big urns that we usually used to boil water. Some
crushed ice was added, and it was MARGARITA TIME!! After making
a fair old dent in the stuff, we took the rest (and our cooler)
down to the campfire at the river bank where everybody from both
buses got together for a drink, a smoke of some dubious weed,
and a session of Roostersha. By now, people were saying SCROTE
to anyone silly enough to sit on the cooler. I later discovered
that some bastards from the other bus were stealing our beer.
Why didn't they just ask us, for God's sake. I don't know why I
did it, but I remember at one point trying to pick up Demelza
and throw her in the river. She put up a helluva fight. I never
did manage it.  As the evening wore on, folk started heading
back to the bus. Most of them hauled out mattresses to sleep
outside. I was too pissed to bother and just crashed on the bus.
Come the morning, I'm glad I did......





DAY 9 - Sun.,26th Sept. - G.Banks/Study Butte/Hot Springs, Texas

----------------------------------------------------------------



	I woke up fairly early. My mouth felt like it had been slept in
by a colony of small furry animals. I staggered off the bus and
found myself faced with what could have been considered a good
advertisement for the Chaos Theory. Mattresses, sleeping bags,
people, cans, and other stuff was strewn about the desert
landscape. Angus was sleeping near the bus. He'd gone to the
trouble of pulling a mattress off, but for some strange reason
chose to sleep on the rocks next to it. The rain of the previous
day must have left quite a bit of dampness in the ground,
because everything and everybody was covered in a heavy dew
(except, of course, those who were clever enough to sleep on the
bus).

	Jeri was already up and had the coffee on the go. One or two
other dazed and confused companions were staggering about the
war zone, trying to get their heads together. It was already
very warm, and after some coffee and a beer (just for medicinal
purposes, of course), some of us decided that the best road to
recovery lay just across the river. Camilla, Nicki, Mike(1), and
myself made our way over to the mud bath. Mike wanted to get
some photos over there, and managed to get his camera across by
sealing it in 2 zip-lock bags. We found that we were the first
people over there this morning, and for the next hour or so we
had the whole place to ourselves. We got into the mud and sat
back to back, sort of train fashion, and spent ages massaging
each other. I don't think I've ever come across a better way of
curing a hangover! Camilla and Nicki thought that they would lie
out for a while and let the mud bake on their skin. It was
pretty funny watching them. The dry, cracking mud all over their
bodies made them look like crumbling old statues. Soon, more
people began to drift over (As I said earlier, inhibitions were
completely out the window now, and almost everybody had chosen
to leave their clothes on the bank before swimming across the
river) and the massage chain grew larger. The general consensus
seemed to be that we could just stay here for the next couple of
weeks, and wait for the next Tortoise to come through!
Unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end some time,
so we started to make our way back across the river to the bus.
So long, mud! I'm sure I'll see you again in the future.

	The road out from Grassy Banks took us once again past Study
Butte. This time the rednecks were gone, the only people around
being a couple of guys sitting on the covered porch enjoying a
beer, and the shopkeepers. We made a beer stop here, and got to
chatting with the locals. They turned out to be really friendly.
One of them brought out an accordion and spent some time
entertaining us. I loved his version of "Black Magic Woman".
Gaunt bought a big tub of ice cream which was passed around
among everyone. We stayed here for about an hour and had a great
time. The only low point was the toilets, a couple of outhouses
behind the store. They smelled really bad. I'm glad that I'm a
man so I didn't have to sit on them!

	We left Study Butte behind, and drove on through the Texan
desert to a place called Hot Springs, where there were
(surprise, surprise) Hot Springs! We parked the bus, and had to
walk about a mile down to them. They were at the base of a
cliff, right on the river. The water was heated in the cliff
rock and flowed into some man-made pools on the river bank. At
one time, (up until the early 50's), people came here to bathe
in the water to take advantage of their "health giving
properties". The pools are formed by the foundations of what was
once an enclosed bathhouse. Nearby were stone buildings which
were once a post office, general store, and a hotel.

	These pools were the ones that the Park Service wanted people
to know about. Gaunt, however, knew of another hot pool along a
path about a quarter mile away. We hiked along the trail until
we came across a path which someone had obviously tried to block
by piling rocks over it. The path led down to the river. Tall
reeds grew right alongside, eventually bending right overhead to
form a tunnel about 4ft. in height. A few feet down the tunnel,
you hit the hot pool. It was a great wee place, a small pool
about 5ft. deep and 7-8ft. in diameter which was completely
enclosed by reeds. we found that the floor of the pool was made
of quicksand. As you stood there, you could feel the ground
under your feet giving way. Because of the depth of the pool,
though, it was easy to tread water, so there wasn't really any
danger of being sucked under. Someone had obviously been here at
night, as the remnants of some candles still lay on a small dirt
bank to one side of the chamber. A bunch of us sat down here,
chatted and relaxed for a while before heading back to join the
others at the "official" pools. It was late afternoon when
Sonya, Tracy and myself made our way back to the bus.

	We pretty much had dinner ready by the time the others got
back. It wasn't that difficult really, as tonights meal was
pasta and a variety of salads. Just next to the bus was a hill
which led up to a sheer cliff face. Tracy and I climbed up to
check out the view. I wish we'd gone up just a few minutes
earlier, as the sun had just set, and I realised that it would
have been quite spectacular to see it from this vantage point.
We spotted some of the others making their way back from the Hot
Springs, and gave them a wave from our lofty position. I also
got a good photo of the bus from here, one that really gives you
a feel for the kind of out-of-the-way places that we went to.

	Just after dark, we set off again. Partying at night was
becoming a habit on the Ark, and we soon had another one in full
swing, with people once again performing acrobatics from the
handrails, and doing limbo dancing in the gangway. After a
while, a few folk started to tire out, so the Miracle was
performed, and everyone crashed. Me? For some reason I wasn't
tired at all, so I sat up front with a beer and chatted to
Peter, who was driving through the night. I was fascinated by
the Texas roads. Long, straight, and so flat that you could see
for miles. At one point, I spotted the headlights of a vehicle
heading towards us. It was literally a full 10 minutes before we
passed each other. Peter and I talked for hours about all sorts
of things, but mainly sports. I'll tell you, he really knew his
stuff, too. Being from Boston, he was a great Red Sox fan, and I
think I surprised him with my knowledge of baseball, especially
the 60's which was his era. We went on to talk about motorbikes,
travelling, music, Scotland, and life in general. I found Peter
to be an incredibly interesting and knowledgeable person. He
seems to have packed a lot into his life, and spending these few
hours talking to him was, on reflection, one of my fondest
memories of the trip. Before we knew it, time had past and we
were in a town called Del Rio, where Gaunt took over the
driving. By now, the long day had caught up with me, and I
finally passed out too.





DAY 10 - Monday, 27th Sept. - Brazos Bend S.P./Galveston, Texas

---------------------------------------------------------------



	After driving right through the night, we arrived at Brazos
Bend State Park, just south of Houston, for breakfast. This
mornings fare consisted of my last 2 cans of Lone Star beer (a
Texas brew), 3 or 4 coffees, and muesli with yoghurt and honey.
Alligators run wild in this park, and all through breakfast I
was tempted to use that old joke "Get me an alligator sandwich,
and make it snappy!". Fortunately, I managed to restrain myself. 

	I had a quick wash and a shave, and even consented to put on a
clean t-shirt! Once again feeling refreshed, we set out on a
walk through the park to say hi to the wildlife.

	The trail through park takes you alongside a lake, and it
wasn't long before we spotted our first few gators. We came
across quite a number on the banks of the lake, literally right
next to the path. We snapped (no pun intended) a few pictures,
and continued on our way. It was a fairly short, leisurely walk
and after about an hour, we were back at the bus, and heading
off towards our next destination, Galveston.

	A short distance from the park, we went through a town called
Alvin, which I instantly recognised to be the home of legendary
baseball pitcher Nolan Ryan, who had retired just a few days
previous, age 46. If you were looking for them, there were lots
of indications in shop windows, gas stations, etc. that this is
Ryan's town and that the community is proud of what he's
achieved.

	Galveston itself lies on an island, and after some fun on the
bridge leading over, which we had to cross and recross 3 times
before finding the right exit, we arrived at the beach. We made
a brief beer stop before parking the bus. By now it was
mid-afternoon, and the rest of the day, and early evening was
spent just lazing on the beach, making dinner, and using the
shower facilities. The beach at Galveston is made up of pure
white sand and stretches for miles. I was having another of
those moments when I needed some time on my own, so I
disappeared along the beach with my walkman and strolled for
ages.

	Dinner was just right for the lazy sort of mood that everyone
seemed to be in. Soup and sandwiches. Easy to make, and easy to
clean up after. We watched a beautiful red sunset before packing
away the gear and heading off to meet the ferry to the mainland.
Once we rolled onto the ferry, everyone got off the bus and
stood at the bow, where Karl led us in another rendition of
Roostersha. I could see some people sitting in their cars
shaking their heads, probably thinking "Damn hippies, probably
drugged up to the eyeballs!".

	By this time, we'd established bus parties as a nightly
occurrence, so once again we were soon into the swing of things.
Some of the parties, naturally, lasted longer than others, and
as far as I can remember people crashed out fairly early
tonight. After all, tomorrow was going to see us in New Orleans,
so I think everyone probably had their minds on what was no
doubt going to be a big day.





DAY 11 - Tuesday, 28th Sept. - New Orleans, Louisiana

-----------------------------------------------------

	In 1990, when I last did this trip, we spent the morning at a
park across Lake Ponchartrain to the north of the city. We drove
in by crossing a long man-made causeway over the lake. This time
we approached from the west, and crossed the Mississippi via
what Gaunt and Peter called "The Bridge of Death" (I can't
remember its  real name, but I think it was dedicated to a local
mayor or governor or something like that). It was an incredible
structure, a huge mass of metal which served as both a road and
rail bridge. The problem with the road section though, was its
narrowness. When you looked out the bus window, you were
literally looking straight over the edge. More than just a
little frightening. 

	The plan this morning was to head for a state park just outside
the city to make breakfast. When we got there, we found that
they wanted a fee of $60 to allow the bus in for just a couple
of hours, so for obvious reasons we didn't go in. Instead, we
found a little backroad right alongside a levee on the river. We
unloaded the bus, and made a fairly light breakfast. At some
point, a passing driver must have told the police about us,
because shortly before leaving, a couple of cars drew up to find
out what we were doing. They weren't hassling us at all though,
and after having a word with Gaunt, everything was cool. They
told us to "Have a nice day!" and left. A few minutes later, we
were gone too.

	New Orleans (or Nawlens to the locals) has some great
architecture, with, because of its history, a heavy French
influence. A short drive through the outskirts of the city and
we had arrived in the French Quarter, the main tourist centre of
the city. This is one of the few times when Tortoise takes you
right into the heart of what is most certainly a "tourist trap".
Pretty soon, everyone was splitting up and heading out to
explore the town. Plans were made to meet up at Preservation
Hall at 6:30, and for those who didn't make that, Pat O'Brien's
Pub at 9:00.





	After the success of the bucket of Margaritas of a few night
earlier, everyone on the bus decided to put $3 each into a
kitty, get a mess of booze, and make some punch at the first
opportunity, probably our next campout. Tracy had got things
together for this, and the way it worked out, most people left
while we were debating what to buy. By the time we'd decided
just to go to a liquor shop and play it by ear, we found that
nearly everyone had disappeared except Sonya, Sae, Gaunt, and
Jeri. The 6 of us went to a nearby shop, where we got rum, wine,
champagne, and a few other things. $75 worth of booze in total.
The shop owner was pretty good, because he kept doing little
deals with us ("Take 3 wines, I'll give you one free.", "There's
a special on rum, 2 for the price of one.", etc.). He caught me
looking at his selection of malt whisky, which admittedly was
pretty good, and took the time to talk about it for a few
minutes. I couldn't afford the whisky, but did buy 2 cans of
Draught Guinness and a 6-pack of a local beer called "Turbo
Dog". Jeri bought some "Blackened Voodoo" beer, another local
brew. So all in all the shopkeeper got quite a bit of business
from us.

	We took everything back to the bus, and set off to enjoy
ourselves. We all stuck together for the rest of the day, and
had a great time. First stop was a toilet for the girls. While
they were relieving themselves, Gaunt and I popped into a brew
pub for a couple pints to go. Together again, we strolled up to
and along Bourbon Street. Bourbon Street is a long stretch of
Jazz and Blues clubs, pubs, takeaway food and drink shops, and
strip joints. Prostitutes, it seems, openly tout for business
from the windows above. Its all fairly tacky, but fun to see. It
was the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, and the place was packed
already. We went into a takeaway booze shop to get some
daiquiris to enjoy as we walked. It was a very warm day and the
idea of an iced drink was appealing. The booze shops are
strange. They're more like ice cream parlors. On the wall of
this particular one was glass fronted coolers filled with mixed
drinks of all colours. You pick what you want, and its served to
you in a polystyrene cup which allows you to drink it outside
while you walk. New Orleans is the only city in America that
allows you to openly drink on the street, as long as its not
from a bottle, can, or glass. I had a little number called a 190
Octane, which as it was, was the strongest thing they had.
However, I was last to get mine, and everyone by this time had
paid $1 to get an extra "shot" in theirs, and being the lemming
that I am, I had to do the same. Pretty soon, we were all
feeling just a little merry. Not drunk, mind you, but we were
certainly feeling the effects of these drinks. 

	We headed out of the French Quarter in search of a
pub/restaurant that Gaunt knew about. While in search, we came
across a voodoo shop. Gaunt was hoping to get to one of these,
but wanted to avoid the ones in the French Quarter as apparently
they are too "touristy". This one certainly wasn't that! The
woman in the shop was great. She was very friendly and happy to
talk about voodoo, while not putting any pressure on you to
spend any money. Voodoo was her religion, and she obviously
believed in it deeply. While we spent the time browsing, Gaunt
was asking her for a spell to get people to leave him and his
things alone. Gaunt is a big guy, and as a result gets a lot of
hassle from people who want to fight with him, or whatever. He's
also recently had a lot of trouble with people breaking in to
his car, so he thought he had nothing to lose by trying voodoo
to end his problems. The woman listened to his story, and asked
him a few questions to find out exactly what he wanted from the
spell. She then cut a lemon in half, took 3 pennies and stuck
them into one half. Next, she put some droplets of oil on the
lemon, said some words, and put it in a plastic bag. She gave
the bag to Gaunt, with the instructions that he was to take it
to a body of water, stand with his back to it, throw the lemon
into the water over his left shoulder, and walk away without
looking back. He paid $30 for that spell. He also bought an
alligator's head for $10. He thought that he would put some red
lights in its eyes and hang it in his car as insurance just in
case the spell didn't work. I'd been thinking about getting a
small gift for David and Libby, and thought that a spell to
bring them good luck would be an unusual, and certainly a unique
present. The lady first selected a voodoo doll, which she
anointed with oils before once again saying a few words. She put
it in a plastic bag and told me that no one, myself included,
was to touch it before David and Libby. I stowed it away in my
bag, and never felt tempted in the least to look at it until I
gave it to them back in Scotland.

	By the time we'd left the shop, we were starting to feel a bit
peckish. After a quick visit to a post office, we set out to
find somewhere to grab a bite, but rather then spend a lot in a
restaurant, we got some takeaway local dishes from a corner
shop, found a space on a nearby sidewalk, and had lunch right on
somebody's doorstep. For a refreshment, we brown-bagged a few
beers too. On the way to the shop, we ran into Angus, so he
tagged along with us for the rest of the day. Stomachs
satisfied, someone came up with the idea of shooting some pool.
We asked a passer by if he knew of a bar nearby with a table,
and he pointed us towards one a couple blocks away. We went in,
and found the place empty except for 2 or 3 guys. We got some
drinks, set up the balls, and had a few games. After about half
an hour, Gaunt and myself had a bit of a telepathic episode
(Twilight Zone Time!). It was weird. We kind of caught each
others eye and instantly knew that we were thinking the same
thing. We had both realised, at almost exactly the same moment,
that we were in a gay bar. Why it took so long for us to see
this, I can't understand, because when we looked around, it was
so obvious! For a start, I've never been in a place with a pink
pool table before. We also saw that the toilets were marked
"Men" and "Others", and on the door of the men's was a large
traffic sign indicating "Playground". The slightly effeminate
barman just topped things off. After another game or two, we
headed back in the direction of the French Quarter.

	About halfway there we came across a single-storey building on
a street corner which to all intents and purposes looked
completely derelict. When Gaunt said "Let's go in", I was a bit
surprised, but we found it to be a great pub, kind of dark and
dingy inside, but with lots of character and atmosphere. Gaunt
got the drinks up, a round of bourbon. The measures were huge,
the equivalent of about a triple in Scotland. Apparently, this
was his favourite bourbon. We put them away, then I got in on
the act by buying a round of malt whisky. The only one they had
was Cardhu, not exactly what I was hoping for but in our
slightly happy state it would do. The measures were the same
size as before and were thrown back with equal enjoyment.

	Next stop, via a few shops was the French Market, where we
browsed for an hour or so. By this time we realised that we were
going to miss the first rendezvous (at Preservation Hall), and
went for a meal instead. Earlier, we'd seen a restaurant
advertising "All the shrimp you can eat - $10", so we headed
back there. We went in and through to an outdoor courtyard. It
was a beautiful warm night, and soon the beers were up and the
shrimps were on the table. After we finished the first lot, the
second soon arrived, and from then on they just kept coming. We
were there for a good 2 hours and put away a shitload of
shrimps. I think they were glad to see us leave!

	We checked out a few places along Bourbon Street, catching a
karaoke pub and a few places with some music. We even did a
little dancing in one place. It was just after 9, so we went to
Pat O'Brian's to meet the rest of the crowd. We found them
through the back in the terrace bar, got up some beers and
Hurricanes, and compared stories about the day. Pat O'Brian's
was pretty busy, so the group thought that we would try to find
somewhere a bit quieter, and perhaps with some music.

	We ended up in a place just to the east of the French Quarter.
By this time, I was fairly pissed, and for some reason decided
that I just didn't like this place, so after a beer I left,
heading back towards the bus hoping to check out 1 or 2 last
places before closing time. Half an hour later, I was on the
road back. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way I took a wrong
turn. I couldn't help but think about the Scottish guy who was
murdered here a few months back after wandering into the wrong
area of town, so I picked up my pace, and headed back in the
direction I'd come from, eventually finding Bourbon Street. From
there it was relatively easy to stagger to the bus. 

	Over the course of the next hour, the rest of our motley crew
arrived, in various stages of drunkenness. A few beers later,
including one of my precious Guinness, we poured ourselves
aboard, and soon were heading out of the city, destined for a
sunny beach in northern Florida to recover.





DAY 12 - Wed.,29th Sept. - Pensacola/Juniper Creek, Florida

-----------------------------------------------------------



	Uhhhnnn... It had to happen sooner or later, and today was the
day. It was the Mother of All Hangovers, and it was out to get
me personally. I woke up to find myself on top of the card
table, one of the more comfy places to kip on the bus. I decided
to take everything in stages. Step one was opening my eyes. When
I did, I found I was looking out the window over Pensacola Beach
in sunny Florida. The weather outside was warm and beautiful.
Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. How wrong I was.
Stage 2 involved lifting my head, a major mistake. Little
gremlins started thumping the inside of my skull with tiny
hammers. My head fell back down on to the mattress. After
groping around for a while, I finally located it again. Once
replaced, I held it in position while I had another attempt at
the greatest revival since Lazarus. I fell off the mattress,
onto the gangway, somehow finding my way to my feet, and back
into the outside world. Through the self inflicted haze, I
spotted some of our happy campers on a covered terrace near the
beach. The one thought in my mind at this moment was
"Cooofffffeeeee......Coffffeeeee....". A few shaky steps along a
boardwalk, and I was on the terrace, looking at the smiling
faces of Peter, Gaunt, Jeri, and Karl. With an evil grin on his
face, Gaunt gave me a sickeningly happy, and just a little
sarcastic, "Good Morning, Glenn!". Very funny. Ignoring these
obviously unsympathetic people, I investigated the coffee jugs.
Nothing but grinds. Between the 3 jugs, I managed to drain
enough liquid for 1 cup of lukewarm brew. I'd missed any
breakfast that might have been there earlier, not that I could
have managed much anyway, so mug in hand I settled on to a bench
to savour my precious tepid tar.

	Over the next half hour, the 5 of us carried out a minor post
mortem on the previous night. I was feeling a bit better by now,
though my mouth still tasted like a rancid horse trough (Not
that I've ever tasted  a rancid horse trough, but it does
conjure up a good image). I needed something cold and refreshing
to wash away the taste. A Turbo Dog would do nicely. I got one
off the bus and brought it back to the terrace. It did the job
perfectly.

	Next stop on my road to a cure was the Gulf of Mexico. I headed
down to the beach, where almost everyone else had been for the
last 2 hours. The water was warm and clear, and although I'm not
much of a one for swimming in the sea, I have to admit I really
enjoyed this. I swam for a while then went for a walk. Pensacola
is like Galveston in that the beach goes on for miles, the
difference being that it seems to be a bit more deserted. I
walked for about half an hour, had a quiet swim to myself, sat
on the sand for a while, then headed back. Everybody was having
a very relaxing time here, getting the previous day (and night)
out of their systems, catching up on diaries, doing some
reading, and just lying in the sun. 

	The afternoon was pressing on and soon it was time to leave
again. After a short drive of about an hour, we drove deep into
a forest and parked on the banks of Juniper Creek, where we'd be
doing some canoeing tomorrow. We arrived at dusk and soon had
the equipment unloaded and dinner underway. Tonight it would be
pizza. The unusual thing is that they'd be made in a frying pan.
I cut some onions and peppers, then went out in search of some
firewood for our fire. While searching, I came across a
beautiful little clearing about 100yds from the bus. It was a
sandy area that led right down to the river. I immediately
thought "This is where I'm sleeping tonight!". I headed back up
to the bus to get my hammock, sleeping bag, towel, and
toiletries. Back at the clearing, I had a wash and a shave in
the river before setting up my hammock. Tonight would be its
"maiden voyage". One or two of the others had found my spot by
this time, and we formed a small breakaway group, Sonya, Sae,
Tegan, and Demelza also deciding to put up their hammocks here.
I lit our own fire here and we brought down some beer and food
(By the way, the pizza was excellent! Gaunt really is an amazing
chef). After dinner, everyone else came down to take advantage
of our little paradise. The booze that we bought in New Orleans
was put to use, and soon we had a bucketful of punch. We had a
great night just sitting around the fire, drinking and chatting.
At one point, Peter, who had been conspicuous by his absence,
appeared darting about among the shadows of the trees. He'd put
something under his shirt to form a hump, and had a silly hat
on. A looked like some demented pixie. These exploits were to
earn him the nickname Humphrey, which somehow got changed to
Sexy Humphrey later on. A few hours later the punch was
finished, and it was once again back to the old standby
"Milwaukee's Best", 6 of which I'd put in the river for safe
keeping. Karl had commandeered my hammock ("I just want to try
it out") and was sound asleep. When he came to, the party was
just starting to wind down, and I was soon tucked up for what
turned out to be a very comfortable night indeed!

 



DAY 13 - Thursday, 30th September - Juniper Creek, Florida

----------------------------------------------------------



	A few days earlier, Gaunt had spoken about having an English
Breakfast one morning. I suggested a traditional Scottish
Breakfast (A coffee and 2 cigarettes) instead, but he passed on
that. So, this morning it was bacon, eggs, fried bread and beans
(not forgetting, of course, the ever present coffee). Probably
the single most unhealthy meal I'd have during my entire
holiday. We got all our shit together, and soon the guy with the
canoes arrived.

	He gave us a brief talk about how to use them, then took us
down to the river for a practical demonstration on how to empty
a canoe if it overturns. Mike(1) and Karl, it appeared, didn't
seem to need this explained and headed off downstream. Just as
the guy got to the part about keeping an eye on where you're
going, about 40 yards along, and with perfect timing, Mike and
Karl hit a log and capsized! It was hilarious. They looked so
stupid, and they realised it, because they couldn't stop
laughing either.

	I ended up sharing a canoe with Sarah, and we set off for a
leisurely day on the river. We'd be travelling about 8 miles
down stream. The river flows very slowly, and we were expecting
to be on the water for 3 or 4 hours. About halfway along, we
caught up with Maria, who had been using a single kayak rather
than the canoes. I swapped with her and continued downstream on
my own. The kayak was much easier to maneuver, and soon I was
well ahead of the others. It was so peaceful, just gliding along
on this isolated river, steering occasionally, but basically
just letting the current do the work. I jumped out a couple
times to cool off. The river was never any more than about 5
feet deep at any point. Before setting out, we'd been told to
finish up at the second bridge over the river. I soon spotted
the bridge, paddled under it, and pulled the kayak ashore to
wait for the others. Little did I know that I was supposed to
come ashore about 100yds before the bridge. I stretched out on
the kayak in the shade of some trees, and soon fell asleep. I
don't know how long I was out for, but when I came to, I could
hear the rest of the gang in the clearing upstream. I got back
into the kayak, and paddled up to meet them. 

	By this time it was only mid-afternoon, and we weren't in any
great hurry, so we took the opportunity to clean out the bus and
get things back to their proper owners (or "Do a Bus Toss", in
Tortoisese). Bus toss completed, we made dinner. Tonight was
curry night, and it was delicious. 2 different types of curry, a
lentil dahl, rice, and pitta bread.

	We had a fairly long overnight drive ahead of us so by early
evening we were on the road again. Once darkness had fallen, we
launched into what turned out to be one of the best bus parties
of the journey. We did the Miracle and literally everyone
squeezed onto the front platform. The beer was flowing, and we
polished off the remainder of the New Orleans bottles, including
a full bottle of rum, which was passed around and taken straight
from the bottle. The 60's tape was blasting out, people were
dancing and having a great time. I was even enjoying the Stereo
MC's, God damn it! After a while the booze all but ran out, so a
combined beer and pee stop was in order. We drew up in front of
a little liquor store somewhere in a small town in Alabama.
Karl, who was dying for a pee but was determined not to use the
funnel, leapt off the bus and dashed into the shop followed by a
drunken hoard. The poor woman working in the store didn't know
what she was in for. The only toilet in the shop was for staff,
but Karl pleaded so well that she let him use it, although she
stood at the door while he did! Sonya then came in and asked to
use it. The lady obviously didn't want a line of people using
her toilet, so she said no. Sonya got round her though, by
saying that she couldn't do what she needed to do outside. By
this time, a line was forming at the till, and some of the girls
had started dancing in the aisle, singing "Brown Girl in the
Ring". After about 20 minutes we left, leaving the woman with a
few stories to tell. The beer stock fully replenished (with the
added bonus of a half bottle of cheap bourbon) we picked up the
party where we had left off. A lot of beer was put away over the
next hour or so, and soon, for the first time on the whole trip,
there was a line to use the funnel! Karl finally gave in and
tried to use it too, but unfortunately suffered from a case of
bashful bladder. Shouts of "C'mon, Karl!", "You can do it!", and
"Don't be shy now, Karl" were filling the air. About 5 minutes
later, he finally managed, and made a point of detaching the
funnel from the hose just so he could prove to everyone that it
was wet. We partied on into the night. First Demelza, then Sonya
became casualties of the Technicolor Yawn type. Over the next
few hours, more and more people crashed, and the party drew to
an end in the early hours of the morning.



DAY 14 - Friday, 1st October - North Carolina/Virginia

------------------------------------------------------



	I woke up this morning shortly before we arrived at Duke Power
State Park in North Carolina. We spent another relaxing morning
here. We'd be spending most of today on the road, in order to
get to a forest in Virginia where we would have our last campout
of the trip. 

	The morning was spent making breakfast (Pancakes, Fruit Salad,
coffee, and beer), using washing facilities, catching up on
diaries, taking some photos, and generally relaxing. I took the
chance to try to get pictures of most of the people on the bus
here. By the time we'd cleared everything away, filled the water
containers, and got back on the road again, it was about lunch
time. We drove through the afternoon before stopping for an hour
at a Walmart. Walmart, and its rival K-Mart, are a chain of
cheap department stores which I've found to be very much taken
for granted by Americans. In Britain, there's not really
anything along the same lines. The prices are very low, and
we're not talking about inferior quality goods, either! I'd been
desperate to stop at one of these places so that I could buy
some jeans, and now I was finally getting my chance. I bought 2
pairs of Wrangler jeans, and a Wrangler denim shirt, the most
expensive item being only $15, about ú10. Considering that
decent jeans in Britain cost between ú30 and ú40, I had to take
advantage of this. I also used the in-store Cafeteria for a bite
to eat, as it would be a few hours yet before we made dinner.

	Back on the bus, I stuffed my purchases into my rucksack. By
this time, my bags were full to overflowing, and I still had
baseball cards and a basketball to get. I'd have to buy a new
bag in Boston. 

	Peter driving, we set out for Jefferson National Forest and
White Rocks campsite. We had a little trouble finding the right
road to the campsite, though. As we neared a small store/gas
station, Gaunt told us that the previous 2 times they'd been
here, they stopped to ask directions from a guy sitting out
front. Both times he'd sent them in completely the wrong
direction. Gaunt reckoned that he was a bit like the kid with
the ears in "Deliverance". As we passed the store, there he was!
And Gaunt was absolutely right! We resisted the temptation to
give him a 3rd chance to screw the Tortoise and carried on. 

	We finally found the campsite just after dark. We immediately
made a start to dinner and went out in search of wood for a
campfire. There was quite a chill in the air tonight. I suppose
it wasn't any cooler than a mild Scottish summer evening, but
considering the weather we'd gotten used to, we found it cold
enough to break out pullovers and jackets.

	After dinner, which included a great onion soup made with red
wine and soy sauce, we crowded around the campfire, which the 2
Mikes had well under way. Mike(1), at one point, had disappeared
into the woods, to emerge shortly afterwards with 2 fallen
trees. Trying to break them into pieces small enough to put on
the fire was tough, and some of the attempts would have looked
good in a silent movie. We were smacking them off boulders, off
other trees, wedging them between trees, leaning them against
boulders and jumping on them, you name it. We discovered a
certain pyromaniacal (is that a word?) tendency in Mike(2) this
evening. He couldn't keep himself from poking at the fire all
night, even though he was causing it to spark up and send hot
embers out over half of the people around it. 

	I asked Gaunt how the Snipe hunting was round about these
parts. Some time during the previous week, he'd suggested a
snipe hunting expedition, which no one took him up on. I'd
clicked right away, as I'd been on a hunt when I was a kid. Let
me pause for a moment to give you a brief explanation of a
typical snipe hunt. First of all, what is a Snipe? Well, its a
small flightless bird native to most areas of North America. It
generally only comes out at night, and has an affinity for dark
places like holes and hollow tree trunks. When frightened and on
the run, they have a tendency to run into the first place of
this sort that it can find. Finally, and most important of all,
its totally fictitious. After finding a willing patsy, or group
of patsies, the idea is for those "in the know" to take them
deep into the woods armed with nothing more than a bag each. You
strategically position them, usually behind trees, crouching
down and holding the bag open on the ground. You then leave them
there while you move out to round up the snipes and shoo them
back in their general direction. By now, you've also given the
instructions to quickly close the bag as soon as they feel the
thump of a snipe in the back of it. Once you get a decent
distance away, making appropriate whoops and shouts as you go,
you circle around in a wide loop and head back to the campsite,
leaving them out there with the trees and their little bags. The
fun comes when you get back and see how long it takes them to
catch on to what's happened. All that having been said, let's
get back to the story.

	Gaunt said that he'd heard that the hunting was pretty good
around these parts, and suggested going out to catch a few. This
was met with complete apathy by most of the group, but we
persisted and soon one or two were thinking about going. While
we were getting things together, we had to suffer a lecture from
some folk on animal cruelty and the evils of hunting. Both Gaunt
and myself were really close to bursting out laughing and giving
the whole game away, but managed to control ourselves. At last,
we were ready to go. The mugs were to be Jeri, Demelza, and
Angus, although we weren't quite sure of him. We thought that
he'd sussed what was going on, but it turns out he hadn't.
Anyway, we took them out, made our way back and let the rest in
on the joke. About 15 minutes later, Demelza and Angus showed
up. Jeri lasted a bit longer though. About an hour longer. Gaunt
and Peter had to go out to look for her. Peter came back
himself, with Jeri and Gaunt showing up again a good half hour
later, which makes me suspect that her going missing might have
been a little ruse to get them alone. They'd had a wee thing
going for some time now, you see.

	We brought out the mattresses, and huddled a little closer
together than usual around the fire. It really was pretty cold!
We were soon settled into our sleeping bags, and dozing off
outdoors for the final time.





DAY 15 - Saturday, 2nd October - Jefferson Nat.Forest, Virginia

---------------------------------------------------------------



	I was among one of the first to get up this morning. I put my
sleeping bag away, and along with Jeri got some coffee on the
go. She reckons that I probably set a new Tortoise for caffeine
intake before breakfast. The first 3 went over fairly quickly,
then I tried one with a small tot of bourbon (some of my half
bottle was left). It was great. 4 mugs later I was feeling
pretty damn good! I can't believe I had 8 mugs of coffee in me
before I'd even eaten breakfast.

	Once I did get round to eating, I had a bacon sandwich and some
muesli. A few of us did the rounds on clean-up duty, and sure
collected a lot. I didn't think it was possible for us to
produce so much rubbish in one night. After getting all the gear
together, and the roof loaded up for the last time, we headed
out of the campsite and along to a part of the forest where we
could do some hiking. 

	We arrived at the Cascades trail and picnic site to find it
absolutely packed with cars. There seemed to be some school and
church outings here too. What they made of us, I'll never know.
I was all for conducting some sort of Pagan ritual involving the
gator head, but got voted down. There were a couple of trails
which we could walk, one of them 2 miles, the other 7, both
loops. everyone hung around the bus for a while, before a group
headed off to do the longer loop. A bunch of us, including
myself, Karl, Mike and April, Karen (English), Tegan, Sarah,
Demelza, and Sonya stuck around for an hour or so, just feeling
lazy. We played cards, and did some silly things like
wheelbarrow and three-legged races. Finally, Tegan, Demelza, and
myself set out to do the short trail. It was a pleasant little
walk of about 45 minutes. Pretty soon, most everyone was back at
the bus. We made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for a
snack before setting off north again. 

	Once on the road, we took a vote on whether to stop somewhere
to make dinner, or to go for pizza somewhere. We voted for
pizza. I thought it would be cool to park the bus somewhere and
get pizza delivered to it, but nobody else did. We pulled in to
a little town called Rockbridge, which instantly had me thinking
of Blazing Saddles ("Rock Ridge? Rock Ridge?"). We found a great
pizza parlor. The Tortoise would pay for the pizzas, while
everyone had to buy their own drinks. I ordered a pitcher of
beer. The woman asked me how many mugs I wanted. She wasn't even
fazed when I said one. Jeri gave me a funny look though. I
thought she knew me by now. The woman behind the counter just
said "Hey! He's thirsty.". We got some tables outside. It was a
beautiful night, and soon the pizzas started to arrive. You'd
think we hadn't been fed for weeks. The trays were empty before
they even hit the tables. We went through about a dozen large
pizzas. We stayed for about an hour. Before leaving, I went to a
gas station across the street to pick up a map of the USA, so I
could trace our journey.

	We had one final beer stop to stock up for what would be our
last night together. Once again, we gathered on the front
platform, where we sat in a big circle drinking and playing a
few games. We started off with a game which involved having a
name stuck to your forehead. You ask the group a series of
yes/no questions to try to establish who you are. If you get a
"no" for an answer, play passes on to the next person. The
Twilight Zone was at work again tonight. Gaunt selected a name
for Angus and was pretty proud to come up with Attila the Hun.
Unbeknownst to Gaunt though, Angus had selected Attila the Hun
for the person sitting immediately next to him. Weird. From
here, we moved on to a drinking game, at which I'm sure Mike(1)
was doing his best to lose on purpose. Finally, April led a mad
Conga around the inside of the bus, followed by more dancing and
boozing.

	Soon, people were starting to flake out and heading off to bed.
In a few short hours, we'd be in New York, and the whole party
would be over. 





DAY 16 - Sunday, 3rd October - New York/Boston

----------------------------------------------

	I couldn't really sleep at all through the night. I guess I was
thinking a lot about the fact that tomorrow our group would
split up, and I'd be saying a final goodbye to most of my
friends.

	I was sleeping just behind the driver's seat, and at first
light pulled myself up to watch the last few miles as we
approached New York City. Soon about 6 or 7 others had the same
idea, and there we were, huddled around the front edge of the
forward platform, sitting cross-legged with blankets and
sleeping bags wrapped around our shoulders like so many Indians.

	We soon approached New York. The traffic was nowhere near as
bad as I thought it would be. The roads themselves though were
the worst I'd ever seen in any city. They were cracked, pitted,
and filthy. Its easy to see that this city is damn near
bankrupt. We crossed over to Manhattan via the George Washington
Bridge, and at about 9:00am, our adventure was over. 16 people
would leave us here. We organised a group photo session for
everyone. Katarzina's boyfriend, who had met the bus, snapped
off one on everyone's cameras. Then it was time to say goodbye.
There were lots of hugs and kisses, and quite a few tears, too.
I was sorry to say goodbye to anyone, but obviously some meant
more to me than others. Within an hour and a half of entering
New York we were on our way out and heading for Boston. 

	I was really having second thoughts about whether or not I'd
done the right thing by not staying in New York. After living in
such a closed environment with everyone, it was quite difficult
to split up, knowing that you'll probably never see or hear from
most of these people again. But in the end, I think I made the
right choice because we really had a ball in Boston.

	We had a fairly quiet drive up to the town. Mike and myself
disposed of most of the remaining Milwaukee's Best, and Gaunt's
Stereo MC's tape all but gave out on us (at last!). We arrived
in Boston early evening. Jennifer's mother met the bus, so it
was another goodbye. Within the next half hour Sae, Tracy, and
Amanda left too, so our merry band was depleted even further,
leaving only Mike and April, Demelza, Isobelle, Maria, Jeri,
myself, Gaunt, and Peter. It was about then that Gaunt and Peter
offered to let the rest of us stay on the bus on a night by
night basis, as long as they were in Boston. I wanted to stick
with the good friends that I'd made for as long as possible, so
I went to the Youth Hostel, made some sort of lame excuse about
having to bring my flight forward, and managed to get a full
refund of my deposit, about $50. Gaunt had parked the bus on a
side street just outside a car park near Kenmore "T" Station,
only a couple of stops from Boston Common. So, now that our home
was secure, the next question was "What do we do tonight?".

	Demelza offered to be our tour guide and took us out to
Cambridge and the Harvard Square area. A very studenty type
place. Gaunt and Jeri had originally set out with us but only
walked a few hundred yards before deciding to go back to the bus
(Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink). After walking around for a while, we
found a bar that served draught Guinness, and I was instantly in
Heaven. Peter had disappeared to try to find some music. He came
back and told us that there was a blues club just round the
corner. Almost everyone balked at the $5 cover charge, but I had
$50 burning a hole in my pocket so along with April and Peter
decided to give it a go. As it turned out, it wasn't all that
great. The band were more rockabilly than blues, but that didn't
stop April from enjoying herself! She hit the dance floor as
soon as we arrived and didn't get off again until closing time.
It was fun watching other people's reaction towards her dancing
by herself! We got a taxi back to the bus, and conked out as
soon as we arrived. Between the early rise, the traveling, and
all the goodbyes, it had been a pretty long day.



DAY 17 - 4th October - Boston

-----------------------------



	This morning we began our morning ritual of going to a trendy
little nearby coffee shop for breakfast, a wash and a pee stop
(Can't get that damn term out of my head!!). It was here that we
usually planned out our strategy for the day. The first thing we
did was clean the bus. Gaunt was still in the coffee shop, and
Peter was out for a morning cycle while this was getting done,
so it turned out to be a really pleasant surprise for them to
return to. Gaunt was genuinely appreciative of the work that was
done. I'm sure a lot of people in the past have stayed on the
bus while in Boston, but judging by his reaction, I don't think
anyone had ever done this before. He just kept saying "Wow!".
One great point about cleaning the bus was that we found a pair
of sunglasses which Gaunt used to repair my own glasses. It was
a real drag walking around with one leg on my frames for weeks.

	There were various things that we all wanted to do that day, so
we went our separate ways and agreed to meet at "Cheers" for a
late lunch at 2:30. Some of the others had happened to meet
Tracy and later on she came along too with her friend Christine.
Christine was a real breath of fresh air. She and Tracy had met
on a Tortoise trip a few weeks earlier and while we were all
still feeling a bit jaded after our journey she had had time to
recover and was now really excited about talking to other fellow
G.T. travelers. She has a very bubbly personality, and
personally speaking, we seemed to hit it off quite well, so I
was very happy when she offered to take us round a few good pubs
that night. Demelza, who had gone to her friends house that day,
met us here too, and seemed to take great delight in telling
everybody about the wonderful shower that she'd just had. (One
good thing about smelling the way we did... We had no trouble
getting seats!)

	Anyway, we had a bite to eat in Cheers (If you ever get there,
try the buffalo wings. The sauce is amazing! The Bloody Marys
are pretty good too.) then went on to a little place called
Sevens, a great wee Irish pub. Well, I saw the word Guinness on
a tap, and I was ready to stay all night! Not only was the beer
good, but the conversation and especially the company were
fantastic. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that with
every minute we spent together we grew closer and closer. We
eventually went on to another pub nearby. I was loving walking
around this area of Boston (Beacon Hill). It had a real Olde
Worlde feel about it with its brick sidewalks, wrought iron
railings and streetlamps, and 18th century architecture. One
other thing that I loved was the total lack of neon. Shops,
pubs, and restaurants were all discreetly lit with some
beautiful hand painted signs, and at the same time it all felt
so natural. By that I mean that there was nothing touristy about
things.

	So we got to this bar, The Beacon Hill Bar if I recall, and it
was the single most anal places regarding ID that I have ever
come across anywhere! Having said that, the gorilla on the door
had the IQ of an amoeba (my apologies to any amoebas that may be
present). We thought there would be a problem when he refused to
accept Maria's passport as valid ID (Yeah sure guy! If I wanted
to get a fake ID, I'd go for a foreign passport too, complete
with visas, and put on an accent to suit. I DON'T think so!). He
then took photos of any one he wasn't sure of. First Maria, then
Isobelle. Then came the best of all. Mike showed the guy April's
passport. Mike himself held it up right next to his face and
said to Mr.Single Cell, "So do you think it looks like me?". And
what happened? The boob let him in, then stopped April and asked
for hers! When April told him he'd just seen it, he was more
than confused. After this he refused to accept any of Tracy's ID
at all. She got pretty mad and asked to see the manager. He duly
arrived on the scene and decided to let her in, at which point
we all said we're leaving. To hell with that shit! We went back
to Sevens, took half an hour out to have a pizza, then left
about 12:30 to catch the last "T" back to Kenmore. We'd waited
on the platform for a few minutes when Tracy and Christine
appeared on the opposite side. Both of them (especially
Christine) were a little drunk and had some takeaway food. They
asked us if we wanted some then started throwing it across the
tracks at us! I'm sure some of it splattered the train, which
just happened to pull in at that moment. When we got to Kenmore
Square, Mike suddenly realized that he had Demelza's camera in
his bag. She'd given it to him for safekeeping and had forgotten
to take it back before she left. In our slightly merry state, we
decided that this was a perfect Kodak moment. So we did a mass
moon in front of Kenmore Square fountain. Naturally, we haven't
told Demelza about this, so she has a pleasant wee surprise
coming when she gets her photos developed.



















DAY 18 - 5th October - Boston

-----------------------------



	Well, here we were, back in our coffee shop nursing hangovers.
Once again, we all had our own individual things to do during
the day. Gaunt was going to the Youth Hostel to try to scrounge
a shower. Peter was cycling out to see his Mom some 20 miles
away, Isobelle and Maria were going sightseeing, and Mike and
April were going to buy some surprise gifts for Gaunt and Peter
from all of us as a way of saying thanks for letting us crash on
the bus. Me? I had those Baseball Cards and that damn basketball
to buy! 

	I'm sorry to say that this was the point at which we had to say
goodbye to Peter. I'm gonna have some really fond memories of
that guy. I think we were all lucky to meet some as friendly,
and as naturally funny as he is. I hope our paths cross sometime
again in future...maybe on a Baja trip!

	On the way to the "T" station, I met Jeri and found that she
too was about to leave us. Two goodbyes within half an hour!
What the hell was going on here? I'd had some great little one
to one conversations with Jeri over the course of the trip and
I'm sure that one day she'll be driving a Tortoise!

	I found the Card shop that I'd been hoping for, and went a
little crazy. I spent about 3 hours sifting through boxes of old
cards, picking out Tigers that I needed for my collection. I
came up with about 150 cards mostly from the late 60's to mid
70's (the good old days) and also bought a complete 1993 set
which included one particular card which won me a 54 card set of
Topps Black Gold cards (very high quality cards indeed!).

	My relentless search for little pieces of coloured cardboard
caused me to lose all track of time, and I managed to miss a
lunch date with April and Mike. Fortunately, we'd already made
tentative arrangements to meet in Cheers at 6:30. I was going to
be leaving the next day, so after grabbing a quick snack in
Quincy Market (Swordfish Kebabs. Delicious.), I headed back to
the bus to do as much packing as possible. I had a feeling it
would be a big night and that I wouldn't be in any sort of state
to do this later.

	We all met up back at the place where everybody knows your
name, had a couple of drinks, then went along to a real greasy
spoon diner for a bite to eat. We had chicken pie with mashed
potatoes and gravy. Incredibly unhealthy when compared to what
we'd been used to on the Tortoise but we all loved it. After
dinner, we headed back to Sevens, where we spent a great night.
Gaunt, who none of us recognized when he had showed up in Cheers
(My God, there's a human being trapped under all that dirt!)
told us that he had bottle of really smooth tequila stowed away
on the bus, and suggested that we have one more bus party for
old times sake. It was here that we presented him with his gift,
a new shirt. He really didn't know what to say. he certainly
didn't expect anything like this (I was gone by the time Peter
got his present, but I'm sure he would have loved it. It was a
knitted bed cap. Multi-colored, about 3 feet long, with a bright
red tassel on the end. I can just picture him wearing it while
driving the bus. 

	We found a 7-11, got some lemons and headed back for my last
night on the Ark. We put some music on, cracked open the bottle
and threw away the top (we wouldn't be needing it again!). Cups
were extracted from the bowels of the bus, the red passageway
lights were switched on, and we lit some candles. Suddenly we
had a very mellow and laid back atmosphere. There was still a
few cans of Milwaukee's Worst stored in the cooler next to the
jar of garlic, and although it smelled a little funny, it did
the job as a chaser. We all sat there and got quietly drunk and
melancholy. 



DAY 19/20 - 6th/7th October - Boston/New York/Amsterdam/Glasgow

---------------------------------------------------------------



	This morning, I woke up curled up next to Isobelle. Certainly
not the most unpleasant sight to wake up to first thing!

	Once again, we headed off to our toilet, sorry, coffee shop, to
top up on Vitamin C and caffeine. This time was different
though. I had my bags with me. It was my turn to go. The
previous night, Gaunt had decided he was going to move the bus,
and the general consensus was that a trip to Cape Cod would be a
nice change. We met Tracy and Christine at the coffee shop, as
they'd been invited along too. Christine brought along photos of
her Tortoise trip, and Maria had just gotten some of hers
developed. We had a coffee, and passed the pictures around, and
before I knew it, it was time for me to go. After a few tearful
goodbyes, I turned toward the "T" station and didn't look back.
I think that if I had, I would have been too tempted to stay. To
hell with the bus to New York and the plane home and my job, I
just want to stay here and live on the Green Tortoise for a bit
longer!

	Back to reality though. A long depressing Greyhound trip
brought me in to New York where, in less than 1 hour while
waiting for the bus to JFK, I got hassled 3 times by guys
obviously playing "Let's scare the tourist". God, I really
despise that city. Even just driving through it on the bus makes
me feel uneasy. I got to JFK about 7pm, and as my flight was at
midnight I thought I was in for another wait. I checked in right
away, and luckily found that there was a flight leaving in 45
minutes which I managed to transfer on to. This meant that I
would have a longer wait in Amsterdam for my connection back to
Glasgow, but I didn't mind that at all. I'd much rather spend
the time there then at JFK.

	The flight home was uneventful apart from an attack of nerves
at takeoff (I hate that part...). Depression was really setting
in now, and when I finally landed at Glasgow the very thing that
was needed to make it complete was happening. It was raining.

















AFTERWARDS

----------



	From the moment I stepped on to the Ark a few short weeks ago,
I started comparing it with my 1990 journey. The similarities,
of course, were numerous. It was the differences, though, that
made this particular trip so special. Last time, I was
travelling together with Ann, a very special friend, and as a
result there wasn't the same need or urgency to get to know
people so well. This time I was alone, and if I was to enjoy
myself, it was crucial to push myself into making friends and
getting to know people in more detail, and of course, let them
get to know me, in a shorter time than it would normally take.
For  me personally, this has meant that certain people from the
trip have become very dear friends to me, ones that are
inextricably linked to a fortnight which I'll always remember as
being one of the happiest times of my life.

	Once I got home, apart from a few beers, I had myself a couple
of quiet nights in before heading out to face the world. I'd
arrived home early on Thursday evening, and found out that night
that we (The Hot Tamales) had a gig on Friday night. I had to
make an excuse as I was still both physically and mentally
exhausted. 

	Come Saturday, I was feeling a bit more prepared for things. I
spent the day tiding up the flat, made a big pot of homemade
vegetable soup, and went to the launderette. After all that, I
thought I was about ready to head out for a beer or three. As it
happens, I nearly fell asleep in the pub, so it turned out to be
another fairly early night. 

	Sunday was different. It was the last day of my vacation and I
was determined to enjoy it. We have a regular Sunday night gig
in a local pub called The Clutha Vaults, so about 6ish I got my
tambourines, marraccas, and shakers together and headed off.
What a great night we had. Our sound was quite brilliant if I
say so myself. The pub was packed and everyone seemed to really
enjoy themselves. We even had quite a few people up dancing! Our
set-up on a Sunday night is very informal, and we encourage
other musicians to come along and join in. In addition to the 4
of us in the band, this night we also had 2 other guitarists, a
mandolin player, a harmonica player, and another percussionist.
I soon found myself right back in the swing of things. It was a
lot of fun, but by the end of the night, my arms were killing
me, and I was fairly hoarse. Apart from our Sundays, we had
another few gigs coming off over the next couple of weeks, so
the guys had been pretty busy while I'd been away. Suits me
fine. I need the cash!

	So, on Monday morning it was back to work. The old routine
starts again. I'm having some serious thoughts about what I
really want to do. When am I going to have the courage to break
this boring cycle of existence? Someday, Someday. I think about
people like Jeri, and of course, a bit nearer to home, Ann, who
after years of thinking about it, finally found the courage to
drop everything to go travelling.

	Since I got back, I've found myself doing a number of strange
things. My accent has changed a little bit, as it always does
whenever I go to the States for a while, and I find myself using
terms and phrases that are either completely new to me, or that
I used for years. "Pee stop" and "Cool" are two that immediately
spring to mind. I've even caught myself checking out the price
of the Stereo MC's and James Brown CDs in record shops.
Mega-weird.

	2 weeks after arriving home, I started provisionally planning
for next year. I'm definitely going to do another Green Tortoise
tour, but now I'm feeling that I'd like to branch out into
something more adventurous than coast to coast travel. I went
through the brochure, and thought that I'd most like to do "The
Southern Migration", a 28 day trip from San Francisco to
Guatemala over the Christmas and New Year period. I went into
Trailfinders to get some flight prices, and see if this was
within the realms of possibility. Unfortunately, the total cost
of air and bus fares, tax, and insurance would come to over
ú1300 before I even start thinking about spending money. Way
beyond my price range. My second option, however, seems to be
much more realistic. My plan is to fly to Boston armed with an
Amtrak 45 day USA rail pass, spend 2 weeks making my way to San
Francisco, do either the Baja or Grand Canyon Tortoise trip, and
fly home from San Fran. Total cost: about ú700-750. If I can get
myself back on my feet financially within the next 3 or 4
months, its certainly possible, so who knows? Maybe next year
I'll find myself writing Volume 2 of Glenn's Great Green
Tortoise Adventures!



October 1993