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.”

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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.

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First night overwith. The rest to come soon!