Shinanigans

Hoboin it, Again. Pt. 1

So we made it down to Santa Cruz again, this time for New Years. Let me tell you what, there is nothing better than that feeling of freedom you get without a home and bed to sleep in. Nothing compares to curling up in a raggedy sleeping bag under a bridge with your best friends. I know it sounds rediculous, but I might just have to do this for some years on end, I’ve never been happier than living out of a backpack. It’s not that woodsy planned camping trip you take with an Adventurers group or a night out, it’s life the way (at least I believe) like should be lived. Free.

We arrived in Santa Cruz in a cramped civic with 5 people and their bags stuffed in every bit of space that car had to offer around 10pm December 30th. We ditched our bags and set off into the welcoming glow streetlights and empty streets. I found myself rather overdressed for the humid night, and even in December, it was almost warm. This was the hardest part of our trip, I found. We had so much gear from our over-packing that it was already stressing our backs and wearing us out, a mistake we soon took care of, dumping most of it in a bush to come back to later, if it was still there. Nothing was happening, most people must have been resting up for the long night ahead of tinkling glasses and drunken laughter, so we just set off to the bridge we slept under last time, and found it uninhabited.

There did happen to be an old rubber mat which probably sat in front of some automatic  doors somewhere who knows how long ago, and some cardboard laying around. Those combined with the plastic bags we found everywhere made a pretty good bed for the five of us.

Yup, a band of five. Five. That’s pretty much unheard of out there, no one travels in packs like that. Occasionally you find the couple of the streets but never a group like ours. Trust me, I was reminded of this by everyone I met throughout the trip. But power comes in numbers, and so does a damn good time.

So we’re chilling with our bags set up against the bridge’s support…beam I suppose. It was more of a giant wall that hid us from police. Large floodlights were blinding in front of us, creating a silhouette of our first visitor.

His name’s Mike, a young African fellow with short dreadlocks and a look on his face like, “Man, I’d so be pissed you’re sleeping in my spot if I wasn’t shitfaced.” We promptly apologized for our invasion, but didn’t move. Instead we offered him a sip of scotch, some ritzy shit in a flask I managed to swipe before taking off. His response was much warmer than I expected.

“Scotch? Holy shit, I love you guys!” he smiled as he took a seat on a log at the foot of our squat. We introduced ourselves and talked about our past adventures and the things we were doing in the morning. Apparently someone was stabbed at a Snoop concert the day before, which prompted Matt to offer him some Cashews for some reason. Then our next visitor arrived.

J.P.. Confessor and loudmouth man of the streets. Headstrong with a pony-tail that says, “I’m self-righteously important, and know everybody.” Well, his mouth said that enough times anyway. We offered him a scotch.

“Wow, I Love you guys!”

By this time Matt noticed Mike had devoured his whole bag of cashews while we were talking, and none of us had any. Bastard. Ah well, fucker was drunk, and what better to eat but beer nuts?

So our next potential-ally shows up, Brian. This guy’s face screamed, “I’ve eaten so much thizz I might just beat the shit out of you in glee!” Holy fuck he was rollin like no other. I mean, damn! Turns out he pushes the shit. Big surprise, like I couldnt tell by his sudden movements and outbursts of happiness and anger, the 12 pack under his arm, and constant talking.

We couldn’t get anything useful out of him, except a “What the fuck dude, I sleep here!”

We offered him scotch.

“I LOVE YOU GUYS!”

We know how to sooth the masses.

So JP takes off, Mike and Brian go drink beer in a bush, and we pass out. I found myself on the end that night, freezing my ass off cause I offered up my bag for a cushion under everyone. Bad idea, no one shares on a cold night. Luckily in the middle of the night Mike curled up next to me in his bag or I would have froze to death. Was kind of strange waking up with him snoring in my face. I scooted away slowly and turned my head away and went back to sleep.

Come morning we pack up and leave half a butterfinger on Mike’s face since he mentioned he was a diabetic and “needs candy. Man i need candy. dude, you have any candy. bro, i really need a snickers.”

__________________________________

The morning was brilliant. Dec 31st, 2009, New Year’s Eve. We crossed back over the bridge and took in the warm rays of sun, the fresh ocean air, and the… coffee? Do I smell coffee?

Next stop, 50 cent coffee shop. Hawoo!

We had just made it over the bridge when the bushes rustled, and shook like a bear was going to leap out. We took a step back in a half-circle and watched intently as a 60+ year old man popped out of them, scruffy and greyed with tattered clothes and a scent of whiskey.

“hpmmf.. How ya all doin?” he grumbled.

“Pretty alright dude, uh, you alright?”

“Yeah! ermf.. uh.. Yes! I just woke up a second ago. Some guy walked out of the bank and kicked me out of my spot, said it’s time to go, git out of here. So here I am.”

“Ah yeah? Where was that.”

“Right thrr.” he stumbled and pointed at a bush not 10 feet away. There were a couple of bottles, newspaper and toilet paper strewn about, and a very unhappy looking man in a tie walking away. I didn’t mean to laugh, none of us did, but the situation was hilarious. He smiled and started talking about something or other I really couldn’t pay too much attention to, and the others looked bored, then something caught my ear.

“grumblegrumble..had killed 9 people..grumblemrph.”

I spoke up, “Wait, what was that?”

“I killed 9 people, just got out of the penn 3 months ago.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s life on the outside?”

“Well, I started with muh wife. Next thing I knew I was killin for cash, then for no real reason but to get booze that night.. but I’m a changed man now, I don’t kill no more. No more,” his eyes shifted, and he lowered his glance, as if someone was listening we couldn’t see. “no more.”

“…Allll right then.. Uhh.. We’re going to go get some coffee.”

“Cool. I was headed to town anyway.”

Talk about uncomfortable, luckily we were about to catch a lucky break. He began talking about his Native heritage, and how we was a registered “Spirit of the Four Winds.” A traveler. He wanted to prove it so badly, showing us I.D.’s, and what looked like a membership card.

Soon he saw a man walking down the street, obviously weathered as him, and he gets excited, “Watch this, watch this here, this guy’s a Native too, watch this guys.”

Now we were excited. I wanted to see how this man was going to react. Was there some secret Indian greeting? Some gang-sign of the Four Winds he was about to whip out. I had to watch.

Our killer native walks proudly with his shoulders back, chin high and eyes intent on his fellow Native. His stride was slow and powerful, like I envisioned the encounter. When they reached each other, our Winds friend threw out his hand for a shake and said, “How ya doin?” quick and…. normal. More normal than when he spoke with us.

The laughter couldn’t be contained, oh man, I nearly fell to the ground laughing my gut out. We collected ourselves in small giggled and imitations for nearly 15 minutes, all the way to the coffee shop. We stepped inside the warm parlour, took a seat next to the window, and relaxed.

____________________

First night overwith. The rest to come soon!

Homeless, Currently

Yup, you heard that right! I’m currently a member of the Santa Cruz streetfolk.  Keep checking back over the next couple of weeks for updates on where I am and what I’m up to, and hey, if you’re from the area, send me an email, we could always use more friends down here. wolfgang.tokesalot@gmail.com

This post’s temporary, I’m working on a novel or sorts about the adventures down here in great detail, and it’ll be worth the read, trust me. This will do for now, the short short short version.

So check this out, I’ve been in Pescadero for over a week now working on the Harley Goat Farms, a rather famous goat cheese producer owned by the lovely Dee Harley, a thick accented English woman who happens to be Lyra’s godmother. We’re holdin up at the cabin behind the farm for now, this small closet sized one bed and a toilet thing with no heat or a/c, not that we need it.

By Friday, Aug 1st we had made about 200 bucks pulling weeds and breaking fences down and could finally make our venture down to Santa Cruz. We snagged a couple of light packs with the essentials: warm jackets and bud. Lyra and I started our walk from Pescadero, and shortly got picked up by the farm manager, Ryan and were given a ride to the coast 2 miles away, but 33 miles from SC. We proceeded to walk, thumbs out and a cardboard sign labeled “Travelers headed to SANTA CRUZ, please help!”

About an hour later an old ford puts to the side of the road and an oldschool hippy steps out, introducing himself as Bill, our first ride. He gave us a ride straight to Santa Cruz, and told us stories about his days as a bum in the Cruz, and about running drugs up the coast. He pointed out some caves and party spots for us, and gave us the location of a secret hangout for hippies in the area. Hell yeah.

Half an hour later he dropped us off uptown. We said our goodbyes, picked up our bags, and started walking downtown, contemplating stealing bikes on the way (and continued to think about it the rest of the stay. Should of, damnit). Upon our arrival downtown we headed straight to the pipeshop for a carton of cigarettes and a dugout, much needed supplys in our case. Dodging traffic we made it over to the red church, a local hangout for homeless and streetfolk, punks and the like.

There wasn’t much when we first got there, so we sat and got stoned until a bum named Harley came up and introduced himself by offering us a bag of figs and half a small bottle of orange juice. In trade we smoked him out and gave him a little pot, not knowing that was the last we had. Ah well, but still, it sucked. Soon enough a crowd was around us, lighting pipes until everyone was stone silent, and we took off. Down the road Lyra realized she left her phone with some guy named Jake who was trying to sell us an alarm clock he jacked, and we ran back to get it, with no success. But we did get something out of going back.

Some shady guy who’s name I can’t remember was trying to sell me some sour diesel I wasn’t at all interested in. Sure, it’s great pot, but he wanted to go get more, and me to come with, something i dont do with shady strangers who don’t look me in the eyes. After a while he mentions shrooms though, and that’s something we went to the church to get, so we took him up on it and walked down the road with him.

He was obviously drugged up, a little while down the road we noticed a teddy bear with a blindfold sticking out the top of a trash can, and he stopped and studied it muttering, “That’s so trippy.. That’s so scary.. That’s..”

We kept walking, and he followed, soon he was wandering out into the middle of the street and beckoning us into back alleys, screw that, I wasn’t about to be stabbed, i slipped my knuckles over my fingers and kept going, and he met us on a back road. We convince eachother we’re cool, being that we’re pretty sketch towards eachother at the time, and keep walking. Lyra slipped on a leaf walking behind him and the guy spun around and stared her down. “I thought you were cocking a gun.” He said finally. What the fuck, right? We got our shrooms, and hurried up and got out of there. Screw that guy.

Some guy told us to head over to the bike church to get cheap bikes, but they were out at the time, so we sat on the curb and ate the figs we aquired earlier and were idlely talking about how much everyone in Santa Cruz looks like people we know. I laughed and pointed to my left and said, “Yeah, and look at those two, they look just like….. Holy shit is that Steven and Lewi?”

It was. The last people I expected to see walking downtown SC strolled up eating this delicious looking pizza. We didn’t eat much while down there. Lyra and I strut right up and yell “Whassappening?!” Not much, of course. Everyone says that.

“We’re bums!” we proclaimed loudly. It was then they told us they were on a family trip, and introduced their dad. Oops. He gave us this look like, “Who the fuck are these trashy kids?” Ah well. We parted ways soon after and headed to longs to get a bite and find a place to sleep.

On the way a guy sitting on the curb gave Lyra a look like he wanted to talk to her, so she struck up a conversation. “Where’s a good place to sleep around here?” A friend of his stepped up and said for two cigarettes he’d show us, so we took it and he led us off to the river behind longs, and showed us a bum camp in the bushes. He gave us his old spot, saying he was leaving that night and no longer needed it, and introduced us to our neighbor, Animal, and his girlfriend, sleeping in the bush adjacent to us. These were some funny folks, joking around and had a young light in their older faces. We smoked them out and headed back to our camp, where we layed and listened to those two screw in their bush for a couple hours, before we followed example and did the same.

Later that night police were racing by back and forth on the road just behind us. A loud concert was taking place somewhere, and there was a lot of ruckus in town. Before long, we heard gunshots, and the police were right behind us for a long time. It was nerve wracking, but we got through it alright and finally got some sleep after the bums in the neighboring camp offered up their spot sometime after dark.

The next day I woke up to find everyone, including Lyra, gone. I stretched and waited for her to get back, which didn’t take long. We took to the street downtown to find some weed and head up to the mountains for a night of intense fun on shrooms. Guess who we saw downtown? Animal, of course. He was standing on the sidewalk with his girlfriend, a little alien shaped water bottle in front of him with some change in it and a sign that read, “Abducted by Aliens, need money for probe removal.” I laughed so hard I spit my cigarette out on to the ground.

While I fumbled trying to pick up my stogie he told us about some of his other signs, “Aliens killed my dog.” Which he would pair with yelling, “Please help, Aliens vaporized my dog, I woke up in a pile of fur and bones!” Hysterical guy.

We decided he’d be a good canidate to ask for some bud, and he was more than happy to assist us in our search. We met some guy named Pete who sat with us while Animal read some receipt on the ground like he was Japanese. Eventually we followed him over to his homeboy behind the Catalyst, a local punk show venue…

Battery is dying! I’ll update the rest very soon!!

-Rory

More Powerful than MacGyver Himself

So I was sitting in the same spot all day bored out of my mind, and started scraping coins together for a pack of smokes. By the time I reached the five bucks I needed, I recalled the fire incident. No car meant no cigarettes, so I whipped up this rig here.

What you’re looking at is my hobo rig for a new battery. I could have installed a new battery, but all the spare ones I have are much too big, (My car takes one you’d expect to see in a lawnmower). I shoved paperclips in the main fuses that go back to my stereo and amps since they were melted into the fuse bays, hooked some new jumpers on to the cables, wrapped the shit out of them to prevent another explosion, (Once again, I’m trusting my life to tape.) and ran them back through my window.

See that battery there? It’s from a CAT Dozer. It’s freaking massive, dwarfs the oversized car battery in front of it, which is still much bigger than my original one. This is basically the same rig I used before the explosion, except this time there’s no battery under my hood and a lot more tape. Hopefully that thing doesn’t explode while I’m driving. Honestly, I’m scared shitless.

But I got my pack of cigarettes, which I planned to photograph and add here, but I seem to have mysteriously misplaced them, and I’ve been home five minutes. o_o;

Meet Giovanni.

This is the sick-ass ride a lot of my stories will take place in, I figure I might as well formally introduce the two of you so you can get a real idea of what he’s like.

He’s not much, an old ‘90 Honda Civic Dx. It wasn’t much to look at when I first got it, but now it’s a different story. It’s been transformed into a well known piece of shi-imeanart. art.

…Shart.. Hmm. A compound of Shit..and Art. Shart. Nice. Damn, this is great stuff i got here.

Anyway, here’s some pics.

Nice huh?

So why did I bring this up? Well I fixed my car’s power issues Wednesday by taking some jumper cables and hooking it up to the main battery under the hood and running them to my front seat, where there was secondary battery. Here’s the result.

The jumpers under the hood got crossed at some point that night, and I didnt notice until Friday. I stepped into my car and it wouldn’t start. Strange right? I fixed that problem. What’s stranger is I smelled smoke, and it was rising from my hood’s bubbling paint. Hmm.

Oh.

I pulled the hood latch and jumped out and tried to throw it open, but it didn’t unlatch, piece of shit car. I ran back to pull the latch again, and the familiar ‘click’ it makes with the pull didn’t happen. Damn, right? I ran back around to the front, and kicked the shit outta the hood, ran back around and sucessfully unhooked the latch, ran back around, threw the hood open to reveal flames and acid bubbling up. I said something along the lines of, “Ouch,” but a little more hysterically. Hot acid blows.

After retrieving the fire extinguisher I put out the flame, disconnecting the battery and removing it, and smoking a cigarette, my car’s thrashed. I’ve fixed it all except the new battery now, so I have a temporary solution. I ran jumper cables from the battery cables under the hood to a secondary battery in my front seat…again. Am I crazy you ask? Of course not! This time I used electrical tape. Alot of it.

Booga // Buhwhaa? says:
wasap?
paul says:
eh, nm
paul says:
just getting ready for tonight
Booga // Buhwhaa? says:
getting ready?
paul says:
<_< backing up my current iphone, etc.
Booga // Buhwhaa? says:
ahyeah
paul says:
yeah.  spending 16 hours outside the at&t store
paul says:
matt and jeremy are bringing insturments
paul says:
we’re going to play and have a hat and sign that says “need iphone money”
paul says:
..or at least starbucks money
paul says:
either/or, really.