Selected Memoirs of a Drifter

August 16, 1996 : at work in a bar in Portland, Oregon

 Boredom, extreme boredom. I am getting paid seven dollars an hour for my time, 11.6 cents per minute, that took me about thirty cents of time to figure out. Drunks yell in the background and the blues plays on the radio. I should find something better to do with my time.

October 3, 1996 : car is impounded for lack of insurance

 I can't get along in this society of fools. They took my car away from me tonight. My 1964 Chevy, Biscayne is gone. I can no longer get to work. How am I supposed to pay for insurance if I can't get to work? Someone will pay for this. I have no more use for this society and their rules. I am insignificant. My life is a second out of a century. There is no justice. I am filled with rage.

October 9, 1996 : bus stop

 I am sitting at a bus stop waiting for a bus that may never come. It is funny how drastically things can change in a short period of time. Last week I had a car, a job, a license, and a purpose. This week I just wander around aimlessly walking and thinking. I haven't done much with the past twenty-three years. I guess learning to write in this book is something worth while. I want to leave the United States and go some place further......(there is my bus)

December 11, 1996 : airplane

 I am flying in a DC-9 to do the holiday visiting of friends and relatives. On my left is some one's grandmother, she is nice. No life up here, just a dessert of cotton balls. I am fortunate to have a window seat.

  I quit my mundane job as a cook, gave up my room in Portland, and sold or gave away everything I didn't really need. I will return in  a month to tie up any loose ends, but now I am traveling. I finally saved enough money to get out of the country. In mid January I plan to go to Australia on an adventure to see if the whole planet is as fucked as it appears to be.

  I like to be a spontaneous world traveler. I have seen 47 of the 50 states and didn't find any place where I wanted to settle down. Every place has positive and negative attributes, but I don't feel like I belong anywhere. The problem with being a nomad is that you can't take all your stuff with you. Material possessions are not that important to me. I want to gain skills, knowledge, and experiences more than expensive consumer status symbols. Today's society is centered around greed and money. There are too many people to live off the land. Humans are destroying the environment. Sometimes I am ashamed to be human. One of my good friends said he hoped that I didn't get killed on my journey. I told him I didn't care if I got killed, we all die sometime.

January 25, 1997 : airport

 Minneapolis, St. Paul, -6 degrees Fahrenheit. I am waiting for my plane that has apparently become frozen. I'm on my way back to Portland after an extended journey to Virginia, North Carolina, and Kentucky. I have not written in a month just thinking a lot. I visited many old friends who seem to have settled into a very boring life. I spent time with my parents which is more awkward than it should be. I don't know when I'll see them again. As soon as I can get a ticket I am off for Australia... (gate change, gotta run)

 Two hours late, and flying into head winds of 110 miles an hour somewhere over Montana, I realize that this flask of whiskey is far to small. No lights are visible on the ground due to either desolation or cloud cover.

February 27, 1997 : bus

 Good bye Portland. The Green Tortoise is a bus, but not your conventional, straight backed, uncomfortable, unfriendly sort of bus. The bus is filled with beds and so far it is good. Most of the people are of the adventurous traveling sort. I was looking out the window at two pretty girls while waiting to depart from downtown. They got on the bus and are sitting right in front of me, world travelers from Tasmania. I am glad to finally be off. Another guy sitting beside me is from Japan. It is hard to understand him, but I think he's going to Mexico. The two girls from Tasmania are writing in their journals as well. It is raining, as it always is in Portland. The wipers battle the rain. The engine hums monotonously beneath me as we roll away.

 I am slightly nervous about what the hell I am doing. Portland, San Francisco, Los Angles, Fiji, New Zealand, and finally to Sydney is my path. I have all my money on me. I hope I don't get mugged or robbed. Be careful was the last advice of most all of my friends. If I was being careful I would probably have a crappy job in Virginia and not have seen much of the world at all.

 The bus is refueling now. Truckers refuel with diesel and coffee, a girl enjoys Taco Bell food, and I ponder my existence while chewing stale gum. A major rainbow just appeared outside the bus, that must be a good omen. We proceed to San Francisco.

 Well, the bus has broken down two hours outside of Portland. All part of the adventure. I wish I could help.

Thursday, March 6, 1997 : SF, CA

 I picked up this rock today on the beach in San Francisco. It was a beautiful rock. Bright green, marbleized, sparkling in the sun with a color I had never seen before. So being a small rock, I grabbed it up and put it in my pocket to have for later. Sitting in a friend's apartment just now I pulled it out and found it to be very dull gray and uninteresting. Perhaps I should have left it on the beach.

 Now I sit in my friend .s third floor apartment viewing life though this glass of bourbon. The bottom is round and the sides are octagonal, a bit of clear brown liquid runs forward toward my mouth with rounded ice cubes. I crunch some of the smaller ice cubes between my teeth. I focus through the distortion of the glass on the surrounding room. My friends chat about things that don't interest me. "Libby Duratuff USA" reads backward through the base of my glass. It is empty. I am numb. I think I will refill it.

 Down the hall to the left is the refrigerator. I remove the last three ice cubes and fill my glass half way up with Jim Beam and then pour the last of some generic cola on top. My bladder is full. The urine that  I excrete is clear and leaves no evidence of using the toilet at all, but still I flush and return to a chair with no legs.

Monday, March 10, 1997 : LAX

 The Boeing 747 is an excellent example of good engineering. This is the biggest plane I have ever ridden in. Nine seats stretch across the cabin and there is also an upstairs section. Television screens give interesting bits of data such as, ground speed 834 km/hr, distance from departure, air temperature, and a map shows our plane and it's position as it travels. The flight crew bustles about preparing to bring us free cocktails.

 After many hours of city buses and waiting, I made my way across Los Angles and waited some more in a line at the airport. I checked my bags and had over priced food in a cool restaurant that had the decor of the Jetson's. I took a nap on the floor of the terminal and finally boarded my plane. Flying out of LAX at night was spectacular. In the city millions of light faded out of sight as we soared over the black expanse of the Pacific Ocean. In five hours I'll be in Hawaii, the farthest I've ever been.

Friday, March 14, 1997 : Fiji

 I was sitting here enjoying life greatly. Water sloshes back and forth in both of my ears. The silhouette of a palm tree waves in the breeze against a sky of purple and orange. The temperature is perfect for walking around naked 24 hours a day and 365 days a year. I was enjoying this so much that I felt I should write about it. So I got my journal and started to write, now mosquitoes are eating me alive.

Wednesday, March 26, 1997 : Australia

 I haven't been writing, I've been too busy living. I'm here and I want to just keep going Further, but my money is dwindling away. Things cost twice as much here. I hope to find work under the table as I don't have a work visa. After a week in Sydney I hitched a ride North, which is like heading South in the northern hemisphere. All week I have been in Byron Bay, the most easterly point of Australia.

Easter Sunday 1997 : Australia

 On Thursday I kept feeling like there was something I was supposed to do, there was. Banks are closed until Tuesday. All my money is in US currency. So I have been living on the beach all week. It is nice unless it rains. The sun shines on my back at this picnic table. Some of my skin is peeling from too much sun. Life is good.

 Sometimes I forget I am in Australia. I could be in just another North American city. They have the same shit over here. But then I will see an animal or something I've never seen before. Things cost twice as much money, but you earn twice as much too. The toilets have two buttons on top of them, one for a half flush and one for a whole flush, what a good idea. Prostitution is legal, bars sell beer to go, spiders are huge, women are beautiful and topless, words are shorter, the sun is brighter, the ocean is clean, the metric system is used, you drive on the left, two dollar coins, no pennies, tax included, no tipping, didgeridos, kangaroos, sharks, crocodiles, vegamite, aboriginals, and tropical plants to name a few things.

April 10, 1997 : Kingscliff

 It's hard to leave Byron Bay, but I finally have. My traveling companions from Canada and Britain flaked out on me. They owed me about $30 and had some of my stuff in their car. Apparently they sold the car and went home. I should have selected better companions. After three weeks at Cape Byron, today I woke up early, packed my bags, checked out, made a cardboard sign that reads "FURTHER" , and stuck my thumb out on the road. A nice lady picked me up and drove me North a while. She stopped and picked up her daughter along the way too. Her daughter gave me her phone number and said I could stay there if I wanted. I've been following the path of least resistance but I have to keep my motivation.

April 24, 1997 : enroute to Airlie

 I met two Americans that were heading North so I joined them. We stayed on Great Keppel island for 3 days and 2 nights camping on the beach. With the exception of biting insects it was the best. It has been raining lately so I'm glad to have  a steady ride. The little Mitsubishi Sigma purrs though each gear as we pass between the tall fields of sugar cane. Clouds hang on the surrounding hills and the air is thick and sticky like the sugar cane. Credence Clearwater Revival plays on the tape player that can't rewind, only fast forward, just like life.

May 22, 1997 : Cairns

 My journal went on a trip without me because I left it in the Sigma, but it was returned to me in a couple of weeks. I got a job riding a 3-wheeled bike as a taxi. I rent the bike and what ever money I make in fares is mine. This is the silliest job I have ever had, but the money is okay. My job involves sitting outside of nightclubs and shuttling the drunks around. I went scuba diving for the first time on the Great Barrier Reef. It was amazing. I would like to work on a ship. It is nice to be at sea floating many miles from land. I thought I would like the Aboriginal people but they seem to be mostly savages. I was taking two guys home from a club, my first night at this job. They were wasted, as you usually are when coming home from a club. Two Aboriginals were trying to break into a pay phone with a rock and my passengers were yelling at them. Ten more Aboriginal youths were around the corner and attacked us. Both guys got beat up a bit and ran off with out paying me. This left me trying to reason with the twelve angry black faces that were surrounding me and the bike. Some of them were small and not much of a threat to me, but a few of them were quite large and angry. They thought I called them "black cunts" ,a common derogatory expression in Australia. I tried to explain I was just working and had nothing against them. I let three of them punch me before I decided to fight back. I could have fought all of them, but I had no rage, no motivation, no hate. Blood was running down my face but I felt no pain, they were young and couldn't hit too hard. This was all happening in the middle of a major intersection at 10 PM. Cars stopped, horns honked, people yelled, and one man tried to help me out but got his nose broken as he was getting out of his car. There was a girl with the guys who were trying to kill me and she was screaming for them to stop. I wouldn't be knocked down despite their efforts and I punched one of them in the mouth who was trying to steal the bike. It felt strange, I didn't want to fight them. When I started hitting back they ran off into the darkness one by one. I was left standing in the road with a torn shirt and a bloody face. I got back on the bike and rode away. It could have been worse, they didn't steal anything.

 Aboriginals were here first. White men came and invaded their land and tried to assimilate their culture. I'm sad this attack planted racist ideas in my head. I don't think the natives are very evolved and I no longer trust them. I'll be leaving Cairns soon, must go Further.

June 2, 1997 : Cape Tribulation

 A few days ago I decided to leave Cairns in the middle of the night. The time was about 3 AM and I was more drunk than I realized. There was very little traffic on the road at this hour but the first car that came picked me up. Three rides later I was in Port Douglas at four something in the morning. I fell asleep on a rocky ledge overlooking the sea. When I awoke in the morning with a hangover and the sun trying to burn a hole in my head, I realized that I left my toothbrush, towel, and other things in Cairns and had to go back for them.

 

June 6, 1997 : Cape Tribulation

 It has been raining everyday, I guess that is why they call it a rain forest. It is ten o'clock at night and there isn't enough light to write by. I have made sort of a candle out of some chunks of wax and a rolling paper. Bandicoots are fury little marsupial rodents. They visit nightly. I've seen more snakes here than anywhere, but I like snakes as long as they don't bite me. I've fallen in love with a blond woman from London named Anna. Tiny drops of water litter my paper and gleam in the candlelight.

Monday, June 9, 1997 : Cape Tribulation

 I lose. I've gone Further and it wasn't that great. I got older too. Bad luck is what I've got, and maybe a fractured heart. Three days ago I went for a walk. I brought my book and some water. My tent mate from England came for a walk too. We hitched a ride quite on accident. The ride kept going, all the way to Cooktown where there was a celebration of Captain Cook's landing. There are no paved roads this far North, mostly four wheel drive tracks. It was also my birthday so we drank, we drank like there was no tomorrow. We passed out down by the river. Surprisingly no crocodiles ate us while we slept.

 The next day we awoke in the middle of a reenactment of Captain Cook's landing feeling horrible, we decided to get back, 200 kilometers. We walked. We walked, and no one picked us up. We walked in the hot sun through nowhere. Cars passed and we walked. We were walking in the wrong direction. Finally a truck stopped, it was the police. They didn't believe us when we told them where we were going because we were heading the opposite direction. In our confusion that morning we had chosen the wrong road and were heading into the desert, not the rain forest.

 They searched us for no apparent reason, and found 0.2 of a gram of marijuana in my bag that some one had given me at camp. They took me to jail. Many hours later I was released with the stipulation of showing up in court the next day.

 My court date was today. In Cooktown, Australia someone called for Niles Randall Harrison to stand, and I was in the back of a pickup truck laying down, holding on for dear life, on some of the worst roads anywhere, headed in the opposite direction. I am a wanted man. I try to do the right thing but it all goes wrong.

 I came back to Cape Tribulation for the woman I love, but while I was in jail she decided to leave with another man. I have $220 to my name. Distance does not solve many problems.  The world is too small. I am sitting on the back porch of the bar, it is raining again. I was just watching everyone drinking, laughing, and talking. Watching through the glass with a blank stare. My father told me I couldn't run away from my problems when I left Oregon. Now I am running away from Queensland because of a warrant. The Man is always bringin' me down. People are the same everywhere.

 Anna told me she loved me today, but she is not coming with me. "I love you too.", I replied. I can count the number of people I have said that to on one hand, and I was lying to a few of them. I've got an empty spot inside me that I keep trying to fill with alcohol, drugs, sex, music, art, sports or anything but it has no bottom.

June 19, 1997 : Cairns again

 I hate to come back the same way I went. That is exactly what I am doing though. I must escape from the Queensland police. Hitchhiking is no good. I spoke to a lawyer today and if I get caught I'll do a month in jail no questions asked. I'm not home sick, because I don't have a home. I am almost completely out of money now. I called my father to send me some. This is the dry season up North. Dry season my ass. A little black cloud follows me where ever I go. A steady Portland, Oregon kind of rain is falling right now.

June 27, 1997 : Sydney

 I successfully avoided being captured in Queensland. For seven days I was in a camper van with a heroin addict, his girlfriend, and their roommate who were moving to Sydney. The trip was more fun in retrospect than it was at the time. I stayed in the back of the van and read, or talked to Greg about his addiction to heroin. He has been on smack for the last five years. He is a nice guy, it is sad.

 So I am back at the Jolly Swagman hostel in Kings Cross, one of the seedy areas in Sydney. I said good-bye to my traveling companions with that, .I'll never see you again, have a nice life feeling. It has rained on me for the last twenty days straight. Rain seems to follow me, maybe I could have a promising career in the irrigation of crops for farmers. I have been keeping to myself lately, sometimes not speaking to anyone all day. Hostels are full of young travelers who should be a lot happier than they are. I should be a lot happier than I am. I think I have discovered that things are the same everywhere. I might cut this trip short. It is winter here and summer in the States now. I have five hundred dollars in the bank right now, that won't get me far. Work has not looked promising here, but that could just be due to my depression.

 In Australia you can use a pay phone with no money and when someone answers it will hang up, silly feature. Pigeons thrive in big cities better than people do. They call people from England pomies for Prisoners of Mother England. Any long word is shortened and ie is added to the end of it. A mosquito is just a mozie here.

 I was having another quiet night and my roommate Jon convinced me to go out for a drink. We met two pomie girls. Louise Jackson was the girl who came over to me and said I looked depressed.  "Sorry, I'm trying not to let it show." I replied. I guess she was depressed too. We danced and kissed and drank and made each other feel like things really were not that bad. Her twin sister Sara was not that interested in my friend Jon and he left carrying the weight of the sandbags of depression that I had been wearing.