In the second part of the logbook I breezed through the first 17 years of my life. I said at the end that moving back to Idaho was the beginning of the twisted path I would follow to get to the point I am at now. Looking back I don’t regret a thing. If I changed the direction I would not be who I am today. I am happy with me and wouldn’t change if they paid me….well maybe if they paid me enough and the changes…no…never mind, I’m too old to change now.

In 1976, Idaho was a cowboy place to be. The “goatropers” were always brawling with the hippies. A common bumper sticker said “I’d Rather Be A Roper Than A Doper”. I was proud not to be a cowboy and grew my hair long to show that off. I hung out with some old friends and new aquaintances that thought similarly to me. Partying was the way I was thinking those days and my mind was too fogged to really feel any passion about any issue that should matter. Booze and weed were my main thoughts and because of that I made a few bad decisions. Those bad decisions led to a short incarceration in Idahos penal system and some of the worst times I have ever had. And the first time I knew the reality of true love.

No. I didn’t find another inmate romantic. My friends from the streets little sister came to visit me there and for the first time I saw her as someone besides that gangly, shy cutie I knew as a little girl. She had become quite a young woman and was one of the few that hadn’t thrown me aside because I was in jail. Falling in love for the first time at 20 y/o was a strange emotion. Especially since the guards knew her and prohibited me from getting more visits from her. They were protecting her from my bad influence. and she was just 17 so in their opinion I was contributing to a minors shortcomings. But I couldn’t forget that kiss I got at the end of her last visit.

I was paroled to my parents just a few days before my 21st birthday. By this time my folks were living in Baton Rouge, LA so the transfer was made and I moved to a totally different culture than any I had ever experienced. I kept a long distance relationship going and planned to return to Idaho as soon as possible.

My parole was up a year later and I was free to travel. I scooted my butt up to the mountains of Idaho and was elated to find her still interested. We spent a few wonderful days together. In that short time I confirmed in my heart what love meant. I knew this was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. I was so happy.

We went for a ride into the hills with her brothers. The bikes were roaring and the mountain air was cold. We explored an old abandoned military base on the hilltop and headed back into town. The melting snow had washed gravel over the road and with my inexperience of having a passenger on a bike added to the road conditions I wrecked the scooter. Luckily she wasn’t too badly hurt but I broke my ankle and was scraped up pretty badly. Hospitals and surgery ruined the end of my visit and I flew back to Louisiana to recover. I was unhappy about leaving her behind but what could I do?

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder and it did. I missed her and she met a guy who made her heart grow fonder…of him. (on a side note I have recently gotten back in touch with her and found she married the guy she met and fell in love with. They had two wonderful sons. She has two beautiful grandsons now. Sadly her husband passed away a couple of years ago and my sympathy is with her and her family. Rest in peace Jim.)

I started going to Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge and did quite well in both my studies and my love life. I started hanging out with a few “radical” folks around campus and became politically involved with some lefty groups that were far from the mainstream on LSU’s conservative campus. Some of the folks that became my new friends were into hardcore punk and my musical tastes broadened. My first big national act of protest came when I hitch hiked to Dallas in 1984 to participate in the actions at the Republican National Convention. I met and talked with Gregory Johnson of the Revolutionary Communist Party shortly before he was arrested in the landmark flag burning case. I had watched as fellow Baton Rougian “Emily” stole the flag he burned from a flagpole in front of a bank.

After my return to Louisiana I got even more involved in politics and was soon on the BRPD’s list of people to harrass. Spending many weekends in jail on the trumped up charges of “Failure To Move Along” I soon got a reputation as a troublemaker. My left leaning political views made life in conservative south Louisiana miserable. I longed for others to see things my way but never seemed to be able to change the outlook others had about issues of the day.Maybe it was the image I portrayed with my long hair and obvious dope smoking but maybe it was just the traditional conservative closemindedness so prevalent in the deep south. Whatever it was I remained in the vocal minority and was an outcast, again.

Then a magical turn in my life came about. My buddy Rob took me to my first Grateful Dead show.The parking lot scene wowed me. Crazed looking hippies wandered about waiting for the show. It was hilarious to see the interactions between the Dead Heads and the Madonna fans that were waiting for tickets to go on sale the next day. The smell of burning buds and sounds of taped shows from days gone by filled the air. The cold on that Easter weekend didn’t seem to damper the festive mood that abounded. It was a new scene for me but one I embraced quickly.

The Philly Spectrum was packed that fateful April evening. From the first note of the opening “Feel Like A Stranger’ I knew this was the bus I wanted to ride and climbed aboard. The LSD and Brent Mydland’s keyboard perfection were big factors in my decision to become a “Tour Head” I’m sure yet I never looked back. When you “get on the bus” as hardcore as I did there is really no chance of going back to the mainstream of life in America. I constantly sought out more of Jerry’s guitar noodling and the perfectly round purple bass notes that poured from Phil’s amp.

The next few years passed in a wonderful blur. I met and married the mother of my son. When he came into my life it seemed that everything changed. Like the whole world had become brighter. Like life had finally gotten some real meaning. The most beautiful creature had come into existence and he was mine. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world but one of the most sobering at the same time.

We toured awhile and attended Rainbow Gathering type events over those early years. Moving to Austin, TX, Santa Cruz, CA and back to Louisiana it was a long strange trip. “Settling down” meant getting a job driving truck. Not really staying in one place was very much to my wandering feet’s liking. Having a home base was what I needed but the vagabond in me eventually took me many places in all 48 lower states, Canada and even Mexico.

It’s kinda tough finding a truck driver to talk to whose political views lean much farther left than Rush Limbaugh’s puke so my voice was quietened. (and you thought the Alien in this blogs title had to do with living near the 1947 crash here in Roswell.) I veered away from the controversial attitude I once carried with me and that kept me in a much better place among my peers. In 1990 I had a crushing accident that took 3 fingers from my right hand and also took what mind I had left. I spent a few crazy years in which I lost most of my friends and eventually my marriage. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is what the doctors called it, I just called it being slap ass crazy.

Returning to the trucks was therapeutic physically, psychologically and spiritually. I showed the industry they were wrong and drove without accidents or incident for another few years. In 2000 I had a life changing accident that shut down my driving career for good but this time I went to the shrinks early and that probably kept the insanity from returning. That ain’t saying I’m a sane, normal individual. Just that I am better adjusted to daily living facing paralysis with a decent life outlook.

Well, now it’s 2008 and my son is 20 years old. This is the year I turn 50. I am disabled and am stuck in this hellhole they call Roswell, New Mexico. The Dead aren’t touring any more. The Rainbows have been labeled as a terrorist group by the Department of Homeland Security. They wont let me drive truck anymore as my physical health prohibits it. I still hate what the neo-cons are doing to undermine freedom in America. My voice was stifled by the Patriot Act when the local police threatened me with the Enemy Combatant provisions if I carry a memorial sign for the fallen troops in Iraq in this Republican shithole of a retirement city. I am not a happy camper here.

I am feeling the wanderlust in my itchy feet again and don’t know what to do about it. In the trucks I drove over 3000 miles a week but now I drive this chair in front of this computer monitor. The left coast calls me daily and I am trying to figure out how to answer that appealing siren song. I want to move to the woods and live simply. I want to leave a lighter foot print on this earth for a couple of reasons. The main one is to try to leave a better place for our grandchildren to live. The other reason is a nagging need to atone for the heavy footprint I left driving them big trucks.

Trucks are a necessary evil in our world. Every thing that is around us was brought by truck and if it wasn’t me driving it would have been someone else. Those groceries had to get to the cities and towns somehow. I am not apologizing for doing that for years. I had a great time and would probably return in a flash if they would let me. That part of my life is over though and I now have the time to rant and rave about whatever is on my mind. This site is a perfect outlet and I love doing it. I ask you to stay tuned if you are so inclined and listen to my shit as I go along on this rough road called American life.

Ahead of me there lies the rest of the long strange trip. The lines are now drawn in this version of my log book. I am not logging much driving time and my 14 hour clock sits idle most of the time. I am, however, not ready to go into the off duty part of the grid. Thanks for riding along in my big rig to insanity.