moped trip

part 9 -update and links

2010-07-18T20:29:00.000-07:00

Holy crap! Did you make it through that whole story or did you just click on this page? It's summer of the year 2010 as I type this. Brianna and I are getting married in October somewhere in Oregon! We did end up moving here in 2006 and love it. Brianna is doing great for being a Californian. Somehow she likes all the rain here and might have even become allergic to the sun! We still miss our friends and family in Connecticut, San Pedro and Long Beach but we're having some sweet fun.

My long time buddy Barney Rubbish moved out a couple years ago from the other Portland in Maine. Together we annihilate camping spots from Mt Hood to Mt St. Helens in rain, snow and sun! Barney is a self proclaimed camp-baking-master. If you ask him about camping with me he will no doubt tell some bullshit tale about how he saved my life ten times. All I know is I always have to pack an extra knife cause he forgets his all the time. Or at least he has ten times. Not too long after Barney came out, a friend from Long Beach, Cliff Barackman, joined in ransacking Portland with out-of-towners.

Barney Rubbish

Cliff and me both set our sights on Portland for the same reasons. It's the perfect city to live in for squatchin'. Cliff is a much more serious researcher than myself, packing in sound recorders, nightvision scopes, thermal cameras and game camera traps! He's been cool enough to let me tag along and learn the tricks of the trade. Over the past couple of years we have traveled hundreds of miles through all kinds of crazy remote spots. Cliff has come a long way since he got here and now has the best blog on bigfooting and other exciting things in the works. He's sacrificed and payed his dues spending more time in the woods than most! If you know where a bigfoot is hiding in the Pacific Northwest please contact him! www.northamericanbigfoot.com

                                          me and cliff

I would be a poser if I said I still ride my moped all the time. Just ask the Puddle Cutters, I'm retired for now. I used to ride it to work everyday until the commute became too far and I had to be at work at five thirty in the morning. Brianna on the other hand only works a couple miles away and was riding it everyday until she was hit by a car. She got lucky and was only a little beat up but nothing serious. Then more recently she crashed again, this time the brakes locked up and she flipped over the handle bars almost getting hit by a bus. Since then I figured the moped was better off broken in the garage. I do plan on getting it fixed soon with a combination lock only I know.

           Here are some links to places that have info on things!?

                                        MOPEDS!

-to buy a moped in southern California go to Myron's!
       the guy who made Napoleon dynamite did

-on this link some buddies go from SF to South America! Moped long distance record by a couple creatures of the loin! below is their video!

-this is the story that gave me hope I could do this on a moped. Walter Muma's 1978 11,500 mile moped trip!

-to read about Dave Clark's motorcycle journeys the (guy who flagged me down on the Olympic Pennisula) try this link

                                     OUTDOOR SCHOOLS

-for a wilderness skill school in California I recommend Headwaters Outdoor School

-I also highly recommend Mike's classes at Bushcraft Northwest
his store is also chock full high quality stuff at great prices!

-Derek Randles runs awesome backpacking trips in the Olympic Peninsula. A bad ass outdoors man that can climb those ridge lines! If you ever wanted to explore the Olympic back country with a guide he's your man hands down! If you don't believe me just ask Bob Saget.

BIGFOOT

-check out Cliff's blog!

-a long time running, chock full of info site is the BFRO's

-for the cultural side to the bigfoot phenomenon check out bigfoot lunchclub

-ready to rock? check Tom Yamarone's bigfoot songs!

- http://www.olympicproject.com If anyone is going to get a camera trap picture, it's these guys!

-for early american bigfoot reports Scott McClean has the goods!

-you should also catch up on the legend of Bobo. a good place to start is here around the 2:51 mark. He's the guy spiking the ball and shootin' the guns!

part 8 - Gifford Pinchot to Portland

2010-07-18T16:41:00.000-07:00

my Grandfathers house place

I found my way back to my hidden moped and strapped everything back on heading out once again. This time I was heading north from Seattle to Marysville to visit my Grandfather. I drove past Lake Crescent, took another swim and stopped in Port Angeles to visit a thrift store then stopped for the night in a little town called Sequim (pronounced Squim). The town reminded me of my hometown, Deep River, Connecticut. I stopped at the local pizza shop and noticed a cop followed me there. I was used to this by now after being pulled over two other times. Once, in Sonoma County by a CHP officer who seemed intent on giving me a hard time. He asked me where I was heading and upon hearing a primitive skills school his whole face changed. After talking for awhile he gave me back my ID without running it and let me be on my way! The second time was when I was riding on the shoulder of a highway in Monterey. The cop pulled me over, heard my story, and when he found that I came from Long Beach, told me he was from Torrance! He wished me well and gave me some directional advice not believing I drove a moped that far. Now in Sequim comes round three. The cop follows me into the pizza place and asks if that's my moped out there. Trying to be as polite as I could, I nodded and then he said "I don't want to bother you but, did you ride that all the way from California?" My answer did not disappoint him. We talked about my trip for awhile and I told him where I came from and he told me a story of getting stabbed in San Pedro (where I just moved from). "Yea, it's that kind of place", I said. He told me I had more balls them him to ride a moped that far and asked if he could take a picture because the other guys on the force wouldn't believe him. Being a sucker for a photo op I obliged and was glad I was three for three on run-ins with good cops.

I can't really explain my attraction to Sequim. It's not the pizza but maybe the giant concrete skate park that I took the moped through going off jumps, and carving the 10 ft. bowls. Maybe it was how everyone seemed pretty nice. At burger king the girl working hooked me up with a ton of extra food! I later paid for it in toilet time but luckily the town smelled good. Turns out Sequim is famous for its Lavender festival! I called Brianna on the Big Lots pay phone and talked into the night. It would be only about a week when we would meet up again! After our conversation a stray dog took a liking to me and I tried to cuddle with him as I slept behind the Big Lots. The next day crossing two ferries I made good time to Marysville and met up with my Grandfather.

He lived on a Native American owned trailer park that had 2,000 people in it but you would never know. Residents aren't allowed to drink alcohol outside their trailers or cut down plants and trees. My Grandfather lived there with his significant other, Jean, who was now unfortunately stuck in a wheel chair, so he had to look after her. We hadn't seen each other in a few years so it was good to catch up. I planned on staying for a day or two then heading to the Gifford Pinchot forest just northeast of Portland. By this point in the trip my back tire was bald. Being a retired mechanic, among other things, Gramps insisted on getting me a new tire. I knew that this was going to be a challenge but he would not let up. After what had to be at least 2 hours on the phone, he finally found a local place that could get one. But it would take three days to arrive.

For the next three days it was nonstop tales of bargains being got wherever a bargain could get got. "Need a paper towel? Here have one! $2.19 over at Albertson's, I go over to the Wal-Mart, $1.19". It seemed like with everything I touched I got the run down on where and when to buy it for the best deal. This guy had Marysville wired; he even knew the best times to hit the local buffets! On my last day he took me out to Seattle and we had lunch in the Space Needle. I like going places with Gramps because he is a rare breed, an old school loud guy willing to haggle anything and everything to save a nickel. I remember him when I was younger being twice as loud and crazy. Nowadays he just sticks to loud bad jokes that nobody gets. I hope to be like him if I make it to be an old man. I guess I already am in some ways, especially the stubborn bullheadedness that got me to his house on a moped in the first place. My favorite of his bad jokes was when a hostess or valet or someone would ask him a question. He would look down near his feet and repeat the question to an invisible little man named Charlie. I chuckled every time mostly because of the awkwardness of the person not knowing what the hell was going on. They had a stunned look on their face like "this guy is crazy". Some people, like the hostesses, just flat ignored him. I loved his bad jokes and those who did not get them were no friends of mine. It was good to spend some time with Gramps and Jean but as usual the road was a calling. I would only have time enough to spend three days in Gifford Pinchot home to Mt St. Helens, before needing to be in Portland to catch a ride home with Foxy Autopsy.

Mt St. Helens

I left early with the new tire on and it was another long hard ride on the moped. I took the back roads from Marysville to a town outside the forest called Morton. Taking a break there and getting a good thick peanut butter and jelly sandwich in me, I relaxed a bit by watching some kids skateboard on the main street. I couldn't resist, I had to borrow a board. I asked a kid and he looked at me nervously saying "you break it I buy it". I abided and took off all fast and did a "whosey-whatsy" which is basically an old time skateboard trick I named, the kid was very impressed and asked if I was "sponsored". Our little jam session continued for awhile until the local cop drove by and we all went our separate ways. It was getting close to midnight and I decided it would be beautiful to ride through Gifford Pinchot and find a place to camp.

Portland via Gifford Pinchot Forest

Around midnight I stopped at the last soda machine before there was nothing but forest. As I paused to get an iced tea a car pulled up to do the same, but maybe to get a different drink? The man in the car took a look at me and seemed petrified as he sped away. The sight of me must have quenched his thirst. I admit I did look like a crazy moped terrorist with my camouflage scent proof hunting suit, but come on, they were the only pants I brought and the only warm jacket I had. Besides what kind of a "scary terrorist" rides a turquoise and yellow moped?! I laughed the incident off, got my drink and looked over my Washington state map to see if I could find a good place to camp. Right about then a beat up camper pulling a beat up boat pulled up and a drunk ass bastard hopped out to see me looking at my map. Without hesitation he yells "where ya going"? Points out a place on the map and says "camp there! It's a good spot and no one will fuck with you". I love old bastards like that and took his advice.

I tried to find the place he was talking about but must have got lost. The full moon cast dark shadows everywhere and the creepy moss draping off trees didn't help either. So far on my trip I didn't freak out too bad but I could feel the goose bumps creeping up. It was well past midnight and I was ready for sleep. My exhaustion was getting the best of me and I was starting to see road goblins along the side of the road. I was now frantically looking for a place to pull off and be hidden for the night. My mind decided to get the best of me however and soon I imagined dark figures in black hooded robes. No matter how fast I went they were always up ahead until finally they make a circle around me and locked hands all the while chanting. I finally freaked myself the fuck out! I floored the moped up to a whopping 33mph and got off the dark dirt road.

When I calmed down and found a good spot, I reprimanded my dumb mind and slept great. In the morning I tried to find Skookum Meadows, but without a detailed map I got easily lost and spent a couple nights up in the mountains instead. I slept under the stars with no tarp over me and one morning woke up to a deer about 20ft. away. At night I could hear the howl of a pack of coyotes and at dawn I explored around looking at tracks. This time I stuck mostly to the logging roads which were extremely hard to navigate on since they were gravel and my back brakes had given out a few miles back. Going down steep hills was a bit of a challenge and I almost dumped the moped several times. On what would be my last day in the forest I went for a long hike on a well used Elk trail. Something up ahead stood out and I wasn't sure what I was looking at. When I got closer I realized I found a femur bone to a huge animal. Like an eager detective I searched for more. I was hoping to find the remains of a bear or better yet, you know who. As the mystery was unfolding I realized it was a four legged animal and probably a large Elk. The bones were scattered about quite successfully by the smaller mammals of the forest but before long I found the skull! It was the ultimate present from Nature to end my trip with!

Gifford Pinchot to Portland

welcome to Oregon

Heading back to Portland took 10 hours and the terrain on the east side of the Cascades is a hot-ass desert. So hot that I took my shirt off and that made it even hotter! Riding full blown dickhead style I finally arrived in town and went straight to my favorite place to eat, Burgerville, and mumbled my order with exhaustion on my breath. I called Kalashia and she told me the bad news that she crashed her borrowed scooter and broke her collarbone. She still let me stay at her lonely apartment and even found a place for me to keep my moped. My moped would be staying with a drunken clown named Bob until Brianna and I eventually relocated there.

Brianna arrived the next day for Foxy Autopsy's first show of the week long tour. Also known as Beige Taupe Sandstorm, she looked absolutely beautiful with her blonde curls and fabulous outfit. Love was in the air and I'll spare you the details but I was tremendously glad we made it through the summer and were back together.

The next day we left for the rest of the tour heading in the direction of home. It was sad to leave behind my trusty moped but I knew our days were far from over and we'd meet up someday soon.

Beige, Kate and Coco

conclusion

As I sit here back in the Los Angeles area typing this, I still have a hard time figuring out everything that happened on this trip. When I see friends they ask me about it and I'm not sure how to sum it all up. Writing this was almost as hard as the trip itself. I had to leave some stuff out, I know I mis-worded small details and didn't elaborate enough on others. I guess I'll just have to say "tough titty" about all that. What I am sure about my moped bigfoot search is that it was one of the hardest things I've done. Concentrating on the road in front of me for hours to make sure I don't run over a nail or piece glass, avoiding getting thrown off the road by all kinds of vehicles, being deep in the forest with minimal equipment wondering if I'd make it out, having over 100 mosquito bites, thinking I was about to be eaten by Christians or sacrificed by Satanists, living off of granola bars, not finding bigfoot, being road worn and not talking to a person for days, wearing a camouflage outfit, having an ass so sore from lack of proper padding it felt as though it fell off, bugs bouncing of my eyeballs and face when I had no glasses (until I found a pair on the road) terrible sunburns on my face, gusty winds trying to kill me, pushing the moped with a flat tire for miles in 100+ degrees after endless tire changes, pushing my crap over the Golden Gate bridge, getting lost in a logged out tweeker town, having some beady eyed old hippie guy with feathers in his hair tell me that I wasn't going to make it past Eureka without dying, loneliness, dehydration, hunger, boredom, general stress, and the uncertainty that things will work out, all should have been enough to make me throw in the towel. There were countless times that I felt I should quit, but in retrospect, maybe the bad made for an even better adventure! I guess my biggest accomplishment in all this is that I did it! I may not of found any important evidence to support the existence of a North American Ape but I did manage to escape my life's daily ruts for awhile and live my weird freakin' dreams! My plans for combining wilderness and martial arts skills, bigfoot, mopeds, the forest and life, with a splash of crazy went over swimmingly. bigfoot sighting or not, it was still all worth it. Hopefully next time I will be a little bit more prepared and really pull some crap off! I don't know, I thought this trip would have gotten all this out of my system but here I am 4 months later thinking about my next adventure! Maybe a cross country bigfoot search is in order! Well this is the end I guess, Hope you liked my story.

Craig Flipy Autumn 2005

part 7 - Olympic forest

2010-07-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

The Olympic Forest - new growth

Lake Crescent, as I saw it through the lens, reflected off the mirror and now seen on your computer screen

After a half hour ferry ride I was smack dab on the Olympic peninsula. This would be the start of the journey I was most excited about, so my nips were banging with anticipation. From the small town of Kingston I followed the 101 hwy driving slow so I could check everything out. It eventually started to feel like bigfootland. The forest was painted with greens and browns. The moss was big, fluffy and out of control. Large animal trails could be seen crossing the highway everywhere. I was convinced that this place would offer my best chance of seeing a squatchy-poo!
I couldn't of been more psyched then when I rounded the bend and came upon the whimsical Lake Crescent! From a distance all I saw was a huge bright turquoise lake. I would be lying if I said that I didn't get a little teary eyed. I barely cry ever, because I'm such a moped driving man, but traveling through this area I felt as though I've been there before and I was too overwhelmed and just let the tears go. I cried like a gentle chinchilla shivers in the wind, rapidly and fully.

When I got up-close and personal I couldn't believe how clear and cold the water was. It remains around 60 degrees in the dead of summer. Not wanting to be rude to the beauty of the lake I dipped my almost naked body right into that sucker. One second later I was infested with goosebumps and broke out into some sweet shivers. Even though the water was freezing it was the absolute bomb! This was the most beautiful lake I ever dunked my stupid ass into! I immediately sensed the area was mysterious and sacred but it wouldn't be until later that I heard its crazy tales of sea monsters, dragon tears, ghosts and Bigfoot sightings!

The lake is officially the second deepest in Washington but the depth in some spots in unknown. It was formed by glaciers digging out a valley thousands of years ago or by a Storm King throwing boulders. Some think there are underground tunnels that connect with the ocean to the west and that's how the sea serpents come and go as they please. There have been a lot of sightings on the lake but I have to add that when the wind kicks up it can make the top of the water look like it has tiny humps protruding from its surface. But the fact that you can see about 100 feet down and fisherman have seen huge animals swimming below them is a little creepy. Another story about something creepy from down below is the classic "lady of the lake" story.

I've heard a couple versions but the one that creeped me out the most and probably isn't as true starts with a fisherman napping on Lake Crescent. His dreams turn to scary crap when he starts to swim below the lakes surface. He sees some fish and gets excited but eventually keeps traveling further down to explore the bottom. At the bottom he comes face to face with a ghost lady and panics trying to escape her evil clutches. He then swims with every ounce of adrenaline to get him to the surface. Just as he bursts through the lake gasping for air the fisherman wakes violently from his dream. The lake is quiet and serene as he sees the floating corpse of a woman just a few feet from his boat.
Im not sure if that part is true but for sure a lady was murdered, wrapped in blankets, hog tied and thrown in the lake. Eventually the thick rope let go and her body rose to the surface causing the legend of the Lady of the Lake. The craziest part is that she was fairly preserved. The bottom of the lake is so cold and the minerals were just right to make the fats of the body into soap.

'effin- a sweet bro!

After taking my freezing dip and drying my little bitch eyes it was time to move. A few miles down the road a biker dude rode past me and waved. I did the biker “under the handle bar” wave back to him as he past. He of course flew by me as my top speed was about 33mph and his was way more. I could see him kinda do a double take in his mirrors and I realized he was trying to comprehend what he just saw. It wasn't a bicycle? What the hell was it? He pulled over up ahead and we greeted and checked out each others ride. He had a new looking motorcycle, perfect for a road trip. It wasn't too geared out and I could tell this was a good dude. He told me his name was David and he was from San Diego and was basically doing the same thing as me, minus the bigfoot/moped angle. He was camping out under the stars, riding alone and enjoying whatever the road had to offer. He told me about his various motorcycles and even a Puch moped he had. We "parted" ways going in the same direction only to meet up at a gas station down the road. After some laughs he was nice enough to buy me a good luck meal before I hit the forest for a week. I was glad to have met someone like him. I found out in my two months on the road that there aren't many people that will give a weirdo on a moped the time of day, much less offer some good company and a meal. When I got home he sent me an email with some photos and even wrote about me for Motorcycle magazine!

David "living his dreams"

Full on a veggie Subway sandwich I headed for the south fork of the Hoh River. The map of the area I had showed this to be one of the most remote. I wanted to stay away from main trails and just follow animal ones. I camouflaged my moped quite well in a bush and took off into the mountains. It didn't take me long to realize I headed off into an area that was logged some time ago. This second growth forest was nearly impenetrable. I had to crawl on my stomach and jump over things and work my way down steep cliffs. By the end of the day I was only a couple hills away from where I started fully exhausted. My planned meals for the week were fish if the fishing looked good, rice and lentils, but mostly Clif energy bars. I got enough to have 2-3 a day. Unfortunately it was a bad time for fish because I didn't know dick about fishing. I did eat some plant buddies whenever I came upon some eatable deliciousness but mostly just ate the little I brought.

the sour apple tasting wood sorrel

I tried to set up camp in a spot that I could most likely see some wildlife. Perched above a stream on a hillside I had a Birdseye view if something were to get a drink. The thick blanket of night soon wrapped me up and there was a problem. It was so dark in this second growth area that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I pulled out my night vision scope and could only see about two feet in front of me. A sense of calmness developed when I decided not to panic just because I couldn't see. I just accepted what was going on and relaxed. As I lay in my sleeping bag that night my mind stretched its limits to hear, smell, see, taste, feel or sense anything that was moving about. Sounds of small mammals surrounded me throughout the night adding dimension to my weirdo dreams of sexual wolves jumping off cliffs and mountain lions crying next to me while I slept. In the morning I vowed to claw my way out of the jungle and keep heading to the part of the tree line in the distance that I could see was taller, the old growth part.

The Olympic Forest, old growth

When I found my way into the old growth I no longer had to belly crawl on animal trails. I could stand up and walk among the tall ferns and huge Douglas fir, Cedar and Hemlock trees. I tried not to step on too many plants but after seeing the damage bears and elk do I was a little less worried. Sticking to Elk trails brought me easily through the forest. They occasionally led me to water where I spent a lot of my time just sitting quietly trying look for clues. I only saw one print that looked like a footprint but it was not very good and in gravel. Other than that I couldn't say I was close to finding a sasquatch. It was hard enough to find an animal during the day. I really could only get the best "hunting" done in the morning and sunset because during night it was so hard to see anything. I didn't want to bring attention to myself by using a flashlight so I used my nightvision scope. Since visibility was limited to a few feet it was pretty hard to walk around peering through a monocular. I decided to just relax and enjoy myself and not get too caught up in searching day and night for a hair, footprint or to get some blurry footage of a sasquatch.

One of my first lines of relaxation business was getting buck naked and lying in a stream. There was some naked hesitation at first but that soon faded away. While I was working on my bikini area tan I looked over in the sand and saw something that made my naked weiner feel vulnerable. Giant mountain Lion prints! They looked very fresh and from my rough estimate the cat must have been over 100 pounds. Suddenly I felt very naked, it was mid afternoon so I was pretty certain it wouldn't have been around but I still heightened my awareness as I gently laid my buttocks in the icy stream.

I went through weird psychological stages through the week. The first couple of days I felt like an intruder. Gradually, my DNA kicked in, and I came to realize that many, many whiteys before me had made homes in forests such as these. On the last days I finally felt relaxed and at home in my new favorite forest!
I also got more confident at night that I wasn't going to be eaten which made sleep better even though the night sounds could be creepy. I thought I heard everything from a pack of dogs howling, to a baby crying, Indians singing, various whispering, someone saying "what's that" over and over, and once a deep King Kong type of roar! All Sasquatch possibilities I suppose. It's funny what you can get used to after awhile.

Rain forest buddy slug

Even with all my new found wilderness confidence, I began to speculate about where I was and if I could make it back out. I didn't look at a map since I first dived into the thickets. I sent my compass home because I didn't know how to use it and now I was basically lost in the Olympic forest. I think I broke every survival rule there was for keeping yourself safe in remote wilderness. It almost seemed as if I sent myself on a suicide mission. People get lost in much smaller forests than this. I've already proved to myself that I wasn't the most competent woodsman so I guess my only excuse was I trusted myself to get me back out. I couldn't even get a good view of the mountains around me to position where I was and where I needed to be. The trees were so tall and impossible to climb. It was hard enough to see the sky and even so the sun was almost always behind the clouds. I felt I had a good sense of direction in the wilderness so I didn't freak out. I kept on climbing steep and scary terrain while my cheap backpack fell apart bit by bit. This thing got so torn up from bushes and devils club that both straps were about to break. I cursed having that thing most of my time out there but enjoyed the warmth of my sleeping bag at night and a tarp over my head on those misty mornings. I still longed for the freedom of having nothing but a knife, the clothes on my back and maybe a rope like in Tom Brown's books, but I had to face the facts that I just didn't have the skills to pull that off. I did what I could, and the deeper I went the closer I felt I was to finding something .

I did get a chance to feel what it would be like to see a bigfoot. I know this sounds weird, but if your still reading this you already know weird! There was a time out there I thought I was about to come face to face with what I was looking for! Not long after getting fairly deep into thick of the land I heard what sounded like "wood knocks". These "wood knocks" are described by many bigfoot researchers as the sounds of squatches banging on trees with sticks to communicate long distances with each other. Being in a particularly creepy spot of the woods where I already had goosebumps I heard three loud knocks about 50 feet away. This had to happen when I was in the process of crapping and it freaked me out. If I was wearing pants at the time I would have been literally “shitting my pants”. Getting the crap process finished up as fast as I could and grabbed my camera ready to film the wood knocking squatch. Following the knocks I realized they were jumping around tree to tree. I became increasingly nervous as I got closer to where I felt they were coming from. Then there was a flash from above and the knocker revealed themselves! A Pileated Woodpecker! A huge one too! What a relief! I don't think I was ready to come face to face with a 7ft. Ape anyways. I wonder how many of these reported bigfoot wood knocks have been squatchpeckers! To be fair though, a lot of wood knocks occur in the dead of night when woodpeckers are sleeping. This would be the climatic anticlimactic event to end the Olympic leg of my journey!

Pileated squatchpeckers!

I loved every second of being in the Olympic forest and every second of squatchin'! I guess what I planned on doing and what I ended up doing were two different things. I hate being restrained by time or lack of money. These are the typical excuses in life that hold most people back from "living their dreams". Although I was free of this for awhile, I was not totally free from it. I didn't have the skills mastered for sustained wilderness living. I had a girlfriend and job to get back to. My lack of experience would keep me from my original plan of living deep in the woods for at least a month. I wasn't sure if I could make it to this forest on my moped from California so I ditched that plan and visited a few places for a few days instead. The longer I explored this area the more I felt I wouldn't find a sasquatch. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Maybe the people who blast prerecorded "bigfoot calls" and leave opened cans of cat food out around their RV's were on to something. In retrospect, no, I don't think so, I still think this style is the way to go. Maybe a team of about 15-30 experienced trackers and wilderness livers working together could figure this whole mystery out within a couple months. But maybe these creatures are just more intelligent and aware then we think. But if that's true why do they run out in front of cars? I don't know, I guess I wouldn't be wrapping up this mystery this time .
I was hoping for my own incredible sighting like my favorite from one of John Green's books where a guy witnesses two females near a stream. He knew they were female because they had boobs and one had "swelling in the genital area that it kept rubbing". After about an hour long nap they pull up some water plants to eat. Then out of nowhere one bends halfway over and takes a shit into the stream. The creature then proceeds to wipe its ass with its hand and lick it ever so briefly! If I had a sighting like that, I think I could retire from life!

On the sixth day I started to try to find my way out. I followed a small stream down hill that lead to a bigger one and eventually found my way to the south fork of the Hoh River. I made camp and explored the river banks and found an epic Elk antler! Rounding out the day with some rice and lentils I watched some bird's fish along the river and tracked a small mammal. When night fell I stared up at the stars wondering if there was sasquatch poop floating down the river I slept near. Just as my gentle eyes gave way to their sleeping position I heard two distant gunshots and hoped my Elk buddies got away.

In 2005 this area was not yet known for sparkling vampires and shirtless wolf packs

part 6 - Seattle moped rally

2010-07-13T21:33:00.000-07:00

By this point in my trip I was pretty fed up with driving on highways. The Pacific Northwest has beautiful back roads that weave all through bigfoot country. I decided on crossing the Columbia river a little west of Portland on the hwy30 to the town of Longview, Washington. When I rounded the bend and saw the size of the bridge I got scared!

I packed up my pussnuts and headed on over it anyways. Driving until dark I tiredly found myself outside of a Tacoma Army base camping in a small patch of woods just off the road. I had no idea that that night would be one of the worst nights of my outdoor sleeping life! I only caught an hour or two of continuous sleep. It was attack of the mosquitoes! They were well organized, plentiful, and demanding. They not only got around my mosquito netting but into my sleeping bag. I think even my underwear. Upon checking my journal I found that the next morning I wrote, "fuck those fucks. I got bites everywhere, this trip is stupid. I'm in Burger King and I love it! Fuck nature and bigfoot, there, I wrote it". I guess its nights like those that make a person either quit camping or become better at it. Maybe next time I would pay attention to how I set things up and not skimp on something like mosquito netting!

The morning drive to Seattle was fairly easy once I rode the grumpiness out. I would soon make things more frustrating for myself when I saw that the only contact information I had for the fellow mopeders in Seattle were the words "Vashon Island" and a time. I had no phone numbers, addresses or directions. This sure was a trip about patience, learning and understanding.......... that I'm a dumbass! I got downtown through instinct and rode around a bit until I was tired and lost. I rode up on a bridge unsure if I should cross it or not. I decided to stop along the sidewalk and talk to a cool construction type of guy. He complimented my moped and as we began talking and he said a phrase I was getting used to hearing on this trip "Is that a moped? I used to have one of those!" apparently everyone and their mother used to have one. I told of my journey and current plight and just as he was telling me how to get to the proper ferry terminal I heard the unmistakable sound of a lone moped off in the distance. We both stopped talking and turned to see a lone moped cruise by. I grabbed my helmet, yelled "thanks dude!" and took off after that moped. I crossed the bridge after it and we finally met up at a red light. Introducing ourselves he said "come to the rally! just follow me! It's right down the road, I think we can make it".

ferry to Vashon Island

The car line for the ferry was very long so we went around it. At the front was the moped group and we snuck on board minutes before takeoff! What luck! I took this time to reflect on the unseen powers of the universe. Looking around, there had to be at least 50 mopeds. So far on my trip I only saw one in Portland when I was walking around. Now I get to ride in a full pack taking over the town, swarming and destroying! I didn't plan on making it to this meeting because I wanted this trip to be more of a bigfoot search so I didn't take note of the exact date or time. Now, here I am by weird fate! As for squatchin', I haven't done much so far, but this moped rally was just for the weekend so it wouldn't be taking up too much time. Besides, the Olympic mountains were now in sight!

The ferry docked, the mopeds revved up and it was party time. We all took off in unison avoiding collisions riding as one! There were old mopeds, new mopeds, fast mopeds, slow mopeds, and everything in between. The combined engine noise of all these mopeds (65) was something equivalent to the noise those mosquito's made in my ear the previous night and then some.

Joey and his boombox

We rode to an Eagles Hall. I guess my strange appearance along with all my gear and California license plate gave me away as someone who traveled quite the distance. The Moped Army's Seattle chapter, "The Mosquito Fleet" introduced themselves and welcomed me to their get together. I met most of the other Mosquito Fleeters and was glad to be in the company of some good dudes and dudettes. I scanned about the outside area to see if Bryan of Myron's was there. I asked around remembering that he was coming up with "The Creatures of the Loin", a San Francisco chapter of Moped Army. Bryan left a little after me from LA too and was heading to this meeting. The Creatures were the only other ones to actually have mopeded many miles to get there. Upon our meeting I could tell that they were my kind of dirt bags.

Creatures of the Loin with Bryan from Myrons on right!

The five that made the drive were Benji, Jay, Gram, Newport and Lee. I asked them what happened to Bryan and they told me a story involving crashes, bad omens, falling outs and saying goodbye in Chinese. He still made an epic journey going all the way from LA to past SF and back. That's a lot of gusty wind and cliff battling! If there's one thing I learned it's that the moped road can be a strange mind bending experience. It even has the power to leave good friends hating on one another, but in my book people that can do 1,000+ miles on a moped should be able to squash the beef. It was really too bad Bryan couldn't of made it because there was some fun moped times going down. Everyone was having fun and the festivities were about to kick off!

First off was a slow race. Who ever crossed the finish line last would win. Interesting concept that had a couple of spills and epic balance acts. Next on the schedule was some cookout obstacle course complete with jumps. The best jump by far was by one of the "Tom Cruisers" from Arizona, Ryan Murray, he was the only one to hit the impossible staircase jump at full speed. Unfortunately the plank that on top of the staircase gave out and he crashed right into and over the three stepped staircase. Needless to say he got messed up for the weekend with that brave attempt! The day continued with more drinking, eating, and moped fun until we drove back to the ferry for some Seattle nighttime fun.

Killa Curt rad jumping!

We reconvened to the Mosquito Fleets favorite bar, the Mars Bar. There was some musical rock action to be had so I opted for practicing rolls on the grass outside to endless drinking. Besides, outside the bar was just as good of a hangout spot. It was cool to see 50 mopeds parked in a line with people checking them out. Awards were going to be presented soon so people were casting their votes. Categories included best crash, most creative moped, ugliest moped, best stock moped, etc. Not too long after the votes were in it was award time. Most creative went to Joey the kid with a boom box mounted on his moped who was sleeping on the ground, best crash went to the guy who crashed all crazy from the Tom Cruisers. A rad dude named Justin won "people's choice" and I won "ugliest moped". Disgusted, I thought "I came all the way from LA for this crap"! I threw the award through the window of the bar and kicked over the line of mopeds which caused them to fall on Joey who was gently resting. I then flew into a rage and started punching and puking on people nonstop for hours. Alright I was lying about that last sentence or two. But ya, I did win ugliest moped and even voted for myself.

my beautiful ugliest moped award

Seattle Moped Rally, day II

Day one of moped rally ended with night-night time at "the house of sin" where some of the Mosquito Fleet lived. Hearing the name "house of sin" and staying in my fair share of punk houses I expected the worse. To my relief it was a paradise! Carpeted floors with running hot water! Wahoo! There was even a great view of the Olympic Mountains! I slept dang well and woke up refreshed and ready for more moped action. The Creatures, a couple "Tom Cruisers" from Arizona and Killa Curt from Chicago were stationed here. I talked a little with them about bigfoot stuff and my trip so far. Killa Curt asked me where I was headed next. I paused for a moment and looking out the big bay window to the west and pointed to the Magnificent Olympic Mountains. "There", I said. "I should be there in a day or so's time". Surprisingly they were quite supportive and even wished they could join along. I myself was ready to bolt off into those darn mountains, spar with a cougar, fish with my hands, not shave, and find myself a squatch buddy. But there was still another full day of a moped rally in front of me and soon we were headed for downtown. I couldn't get over the well organized Mosquito Fleet rally. They guided us through the city with easeful mastery. About four of them had modified mopeds that went 45-50mph or more. At every intersection they'd block off traffic as 50 or more mopeds went whizzing by, then after the last moped crossed the intersection they'd fly up past us all to the next one and do the same. It was awesome! These guys didn't take any shit and they protected our big/little moped group like careful Nurturers.

a pile of mopeds on a ferry

Eventually we watched people get fish thrown at them at the famous Pike Place fish market, then got some lunch and watched tourists and stuff. My favorite were the Japanese tourist girls that looked "hyper electric cool" in their weird rave gear/party in America outfits. Not having much money for tourist festivities I longed for some library time. I was not alone in my Library needs and a small Library group was assembled which included Simon King, the guy behind all this Moped Army jazz. Our wandering about took us on a couple detours including a trip to a top secret bank office with a beautiful skyscraper view of the city! By the time we got to the Library it was closed but we still enjoyed its marvelous architecture from the outside. After some more sightseeing we rounded out the day watching the sunset at a nice little park overlooking the harbor and city. Dusk brought out the ninja in me and soon I was with Jay of the Creatures practicing some stealth walking and sneaking up on people. Before long no one could keep their back turned on us without getting poked with a stick or finger. Oh the good times to be had during magic hour! A little after the sun was completely down a few of us headed out.

On our way out of the park someone started yelling crap at us, a moped broke down and with us all stopped it looked like we wanted to throw down.We parked near each other and waited to see if the moped could be fixed. Shitty comments were yelled from the tree line by several wack dudes. There had to been at least 4 of them and there were 6-7 of us. They were yelling the typical kind of stuff like "get real bikes, faggots" but they also yelled out some new ones like "you guys probably suck at a lot of stuff". As time went on it began to look like fighting would be inevitable. The moped would not start and the ambulance (the broken moped pick up vehicle that was actually an ambulance) had to be called. Now about 20 or so minutes have gone by and these guys in the shadows are starting to get closer, there was talk about rushing them and kicking their asses but I hoped for that not to happen. The idea of defending ones honor and defeating the enemy is a bold and glorious one.Who wouldn't love the dramatic conclusion of an epic mopeders-versus-jocks-all-out-chain-and-pipe-battle whereby I end up dead/hospital/jail or later rejoicing with a blood covered knife and a beer? I was glad to just get out of there. I could not be sidetracked from my main objective of finding that elusive jerk, Bigfoot.

We all got out of there fine and back to the house of sin. We stayed up late talking mopeds and life. Knowing I had to leave the next day was not easy as I had made some rad buddy friends.
In the morning we went to this little restaurant that made huge 12 egg omelets! Five eggs deep I started to hear some pretty good stories. Chunk, a Mosquito Fleeter told me about his helmet that was actually a cop's that he swiped during a scuffle at the WTO riots! He was my new hero. I also heard about the little known war between Canadian and American fishing boats during a horrible fishing season a few years back. Blaming each other for no fish and actually had shootouts! The Canadians surrounded and blocked US boats to keep them from sailing out. It's a crazy world out there man, crazy. The powerful pull of the Olympics were calling louder than ever and it was time to continue on my journey. I packed up crappily and said goodbye. Jay vowed to perfect the weasel stealth walk and I vowed to find bigfoot. He got off easy.

Part 5 - Oregon

2010-07-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

Riding out of Happy Camp felt great! A cool breeze, perfect running moped and a rejuvenated attitude. I went past previous camp spots, saw a bitchin deer, drank some stream water and finally hit the Oregon border! Arriving near the town of Caves Junction my front tire slipped off the road then into sand causing me to "eat it". I was back up before gas could leak out of the tank and the on coming car could hit me! My dumb ass did get cut up on the hot pavement and I even ripped up my fabulous camouflage army pants.

This would be the second time so far that I crashed. The first time was perfect. About an hour past San Francisco a few cars gathered behind me on a windy narrow road. There wasn't enough room for me to pull over so I just tried to go as fast as I could. This plan didn't work out well because I started going uphill loosing speed. Just to the right was a steep grassy bank that went sharply uphill. I could hear a bunch of cars behind me so I wanted to check my mirror. As soon as I made eye contact with the angry driver behind me I accidentally went off the road! Luckily I had a split second to slow down enough that when I fell into the bank it must of looked like it was done on purpose! I just sat there smiling and waving to the cars as they passed by.

Trotting along to Grants Pass,I would have liked to rest, but the town was hot and sucky. Right off the bat I met a scumbag who told me the local cops are bullshit. He said they'd try to bust me for nothing, then left me with the words, "I'm homeless too, bro!" I yelled back, "I'm not homeless, I got a tarp and know how to make a moped lean-to!" He yelled back "the lean-to has stood the test of time brother". I thought, "So have scumbags!" Speaking of which, I decided that I needed to get rid of my giant Indian made khukuri machete. Since it weighed a couple pounds and I hadn't even used it, I didn't need a reason to get messed up by the po-po. Upon seeing a metal head dude and I asked him which way it was to the highway. I then asked the follow up question "would you like to buy a kick ass machete". I offered it for the price of $5, he went to his car and gave me about $10 in change, a phone card, and a little pocket knife. Awesome! I headed onto interstate 5, which was a mistake but the fastest way out.

moped lean-to stands the test of time

Driving down a main road is nerve racking enough. You've got to try to keep from getting sucked into windy drafts from trucks passing too close, avoid potholes, animals and whatever else. Driving a moped on a busy Interstate is a whole other bitch. Even though there is more room to drive on the shoulder, having huge trucks going about 60-70mph past you one after the other is a lesson in pants-shitting. I tried to think happy thoughts of having a rad girlfriend back home, a fairly radical family back east not and possibly riding a Bigfoot in the near future. but a few feet from me, a mere few inches to my left is certain death. Some assholes even added to the dilemma by slamming on their horn as they went by. I began to feel like a nervous ferret. I kept on trucking as far as I could until the road brought me to the town of Wolf Creek. Now, I was only there for about 10 minutes but I suspect that they know how to party in Wolf Creek. I stopped at the local gas station convenience store and saw various biker gangs roll in, a couple older punker types, a VW bus with hippies from a local commune, and a couple Hesh dudes that looked like they were in the movie River's Edge.

Wolf Creek Oregon, near the river's edge

I made a mental note that in the future I need to visit Wolf Creek. But for the time being, I was off to Portland to rest up at my old friend Kalashia's house and check out the city for possible relocation girlfriend, Brianna.

Brianna

To avoid the 5 interstate I decided to take a "shortcut" through a state forest. Four hours later I ended up where I should have been three hours before. Not only were there no signs on the forest roads, they weren't on the map, which incidentally blew out of the little yellow basket affectionately referred to as my "bitch basket". It was dark, late, I had no map and when I finally found my way out of the forest I was so worn out and ready for sleep I could have pulled over anywhere. Having a bad feeling, I decided to keep going until I found the perfect spot. Somewhere quiet where I wouldn't get woken up by people or animals or at least somewhere where I felt safe. At around midnight I thought I was onto something. I saw from a great distance huge amounts of light illuminating the sky. I imagined a Super Wal-Mart with plenty of room behind it to build a great sleep shelter. About 15 minutes later I rounded a bend and was sadly mistaken. The lights were that of a 24hr plywood making factory. Maybe it was my state of mind but this whole thing was very eerie and creepy to me. I wanted to get far away and never build anything out of plywood again, not even a skateboard ramp. I rode on past all this to the town of Riddle. I rode around trying to solve the riddle of finding a good hiding spot to bed down in. There was something unsettling about the town and I got a feeling it was a redneck, speed-soaked place. I decided I couldn't stay there and rode on. Unfortunately with no map I got lost again, this time in a weird ass trailer park. I know that you won't believe me but guess what happened!? A shirtless mullet dude burst out of the shadows on a beat up bicycle and was riding neck and neck with me. He grinned like a maniac and reached out with one hand to try to grab my arm! This was some wicked bullshit so I full throttled it and got out of there. It was like the twilight zone, almost every house had its lights on and it was one o'clock in the morning. I took off down a long dark road with visions of dancing scumbags nipping at my heels, finally falling off my moped and sleeping where I fell. At this point I had been on the road for at least 12 hours and somehow I circumnavigated back to Riddle. This was not cool. I turned the other way out of town and finally got to a 24hr. gas station and got a new map. I saw the layout of the current Hell I was in and wondered how to get out. Soon enough a car full of punk kids rolled up and I figured they were the ones to ask. I asked the kid wearing a Misfits skull shirt (who I thought was wearing eye makeup) where a good place to camp was. As he told me I realized he didn't have makeup on, he had one of the worst black eyes I had ever seen! He pointed me in the direction of the town Myrtle Beach. There was a campground about 4 miles away. I didn't think I could make it, but I had to try.

I arrived just fine to the campground, but found that it was fully booked because of a 3 day music festival. Wondering if I was going to get any sleep at all, I went the 7-11 and got some shitty pizza. While I was eating outside an old hippie dude with his dog inquired about my existence. I told him my story and we talked about music for awhile. He told me how he was washing dishes one day in the 70's, listening to Blue Oyster Cult, and out of nowhere was "turned on". I then related how tired I was trying to get away. He suggested that I don't sleep, stay up all night with him and his dog and wait until the music festival starts. Then fully exhausted, I could lay down in the middle of the field to let the music run through my body and take me away. I said goodnight, went back to the campground and passed out next to a telephone pole.

After a long cold sleep I woke up somewhat refreshed. Even though I could make it to Portland that night I decided to take it easy and break it up into two days and save what was left of my mind. My friend Kate offered me a place to stay in Eugene but I decided to keep going north to the town of Corvallis. After arriving there I called Brianna and complained of my last 24hrs wishing I could transport back to Long Beach. Driving around Corvallis for a awhile I decided to keep going. Just past town I saw a state park on my map. I figured I could make it there before dark so I went for it.

Attack of the Christians

I drove up to the small state park right before it closed to try to sneak a sleep somewhere since there was no overnight camping permitted. Seeing the host of the campground's RV and motorcycle parked just outside I decided to knock on the door and plead my case. After the first knock it was obvious that there was no one there so I prepared to go find my hideout spot. As I was passing the still opened front gate an odd looking man pulled up to an odd looking dude on a moped. I introduced myself and told him my story and asked if I could camp out even though it was against the rules. Bikers hate rules, even if they're the kind of bikers that don't ride Harley's, so I figured I was in. The awkwardness was building as he paced around my moped and eyed me up and down without saying a word. The silence was making things weird and I figured I should say something to convince him that I wasn't a psycho. I opened my mouth and muttered nonsense. Going to plan B, I just stood there and tried to look innocent. He then took his turn at muttering something and introduced himself as Dwayne and indicated we should walk to the back of his RV where there was a patch of grass for me to plop down on. Even though I was hoping to be camped in the little woods, this would do just fine. I started to put down my tarp and sleeping bag when he asked if I could lock up the gate for him when he left. My heart leapt! I could play around in here screwing around with raccoons and whatnot all night! But then my heart sank when I heard him say "that is unless you don't mind some good Christian company and want to come along".

It was about that time that I noticed his shirt was a Gold's Gym rip off with Jesus doing a push up, bloody, with a cross on his back and the words "LORD"S GYM, his pain your gain"."

"Holy shit", I thought," I'm about to get christianized!" Not wanting to be rude I politely declined, saying I needed some rest. He piped back with "Oh, that's okay, we won't be long, hop in!" By now I was visibly bummed as I climbed into his pick up truck. I didn't put on my seatbelt cause I read about some serial killer who rigged his seatbelts so they clip in but not off. I kept one hand close to my knife 'cause this guy had something creepy about him, that glazed stare, that something-lurking-in-the-shadows feeling or maybe it was just a sweet love for Jesus. He told me we were on our way to pick up his wife who was horse back riding. I started to feel a little relieved. Then he went on to tell me how seeing me on my moped reminded him of a not too long ago time when he left his first wife. All he had was his bike packed to the brim with his belongings as he ride off into the sunset...... to his parent's house, never feeling so free. I was all "right on" and he was all "the lord works in mysterious ways". Avoiding that subject as much as I could, I stared out into the surrounding country of miles and miles of farmland and nothing more.

The ride was long enough for me to convince myself that I was about to be eaten by Dwayne. Fear grew as we arrived at a texas-chainsaw-massacre type farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I started to panic. I relaxed a bit as we met everyone else. I met Dwayne's wife, another lady whose house it was, and her cowboy son who had probably watched Brokeback Mountain 30 times. I've never seen a cowboy with such good looking frosted tips before! Dinner was about to be served and I hoped I lived to tell the tale. But before I got to tell these seemingly nice people my tale, Dwayne tells it. Complete with over exaggerating how much stuff was strapped to my moped and what a ridiculous journey I'm on. Before I can get a word in he pipes up with how he promised me a "devotion". I don't recall any such promise and my mind raced to figure out what that meant. Growing up non-religious, my mom didn't tell me about the lord, just that fairies and Bigfoot existed. For real. she built a fairy table out of rocks in the woods by our house. Now they have a proper picnic spot. What a nice lady!

fairy table

Since a devotion wasn't a fairy ritual I sat perplexed! I was sure it was something Christian but it could also mean they wanted to eat me. They seemed too nice to eat people, but I reminded myself for all I know about cannibals, they could be the nicest bastards right up until they roasted you. The lady of the house offered me some food and warned me that I might not be used to such unusual dishes (it was vegetarian). Since I love vegetarian food I got excited and eagerly went to dish up some hot stuff. Veggie dogs, potato salad and some fruit wasn't the most exotic dish I ever had, but it was more than good enough for my road weary self. I sat at the table and noticed everyone start to pray before they ate. Wanting to be a good guest I prayed to the pagan god of Nature for the food I was about to get gnarly on. As we ate and I told my version of my story in more depth and could feel that they wanted me to renounce my sins or something. Its not that I have a problem with Christians, I think if Jesus was around today I would have met him at a house party and liked him. The problem I have is with anyone who forces their views through violence or dickheadedness (I mean, I stopped beating the shit out of people who don't believe in Bigfoot years ago). But this wasn't the case here, I was just out of my element. After dinner the soon-to-be-gay-and-disappoint-the-family-immensely son went to bed. Dwayne was lying on the couch with his wife and I was past ready for bed. I thought the whole devotion thing was going to get side stepped so of course it wasn't. That's not how my luck has been going this trip.

I was brought into the piano room where they decided to read me a story. It was a ridiculous tale of doughnuts and push ups. Set in a college, the professor Dr. Christianson offers his class donuts and when they refuse he makes one of the students do push ups. Soon this guy is doing a million push ups because people don't want to eat a bunch of fat-ass donuts. They're also crying for this guy that has taken on the task of doing push ups for their “sins". This story went on for way too long and in the end didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, but what do I know? After the story we all picked up psalm books. I could handle a couple songs, hoping that would be it. I could see it in their eyes that I was a lost soul, searching for something, needing to repent my evil past sins and they were going to save me from eternal hellfire. In a way I guess they were right. I was kinda lost, being that they drove me way out into the middle of nowhere, but I knew exactly what I was searching for. A giant North American ape about 6-8 feet tall, commonly known by the name bigfoot or sasquatch. As far as my sins of drinking, frolicking with devil women and stealing from "the Man", I didn't need someone to do push ups until their dumb shoulders fell off. I was already sick of these things and moved on in my life. Sure, I looked like a scumbag, but inside I felt golden. I knew the chances of finding what I set out to find were fairly slim, and the risk of death or injury quite high, but for some reason I had to keep going. Back at home I had a beautiful lady waiting for me as well as an indifferent cat who I think started to like me before I left. That was there, and this was now. And right now, then, I was flipping through a psalm book trying to figure out how to read sheet music.

They asked me if I had a favorite song and I said "well, they all look pretty good". The nice-feed-you-dinner lady began playing the piano and everyone cheerfully sang along to the chosen song. I tried to sing but mostly listened. I thought about piping in real loud to try to out sing everyone but figured I would start laughing. It didn't matter though, with the excitement of all the singing, all I could think about was laughing. I could feel it start to build, first with a slight smile, then with a bigger smile. Then an embarrassing thing happened, almost like a voice said "hey man check this out", my eyes darted over to the odd looking bearded man stoically singing along in his deep voice and I envisioned so perfectly that I think he may have been there, my friend Hal, sitting beside this guy giving me the finger. The imagined sight was too much and I started laughing so hard I cried and jerked about in my chair. I tried my best to hide my face in the book but it was so obvious that when the song ended they decided to call it a night.

nothing gay going on here!

On leaving the singing room they asked me what I thought of the songs and I smiled nodding my head murmuring "uh huh….yes" and that was that. We said our good nights and I thanked them for their hospitality. Dwayne drove us back to the park and I was happy that no one tried to eat me or nothing! I was glad to have survived the devotion and really, it wasn't that bad. The people fed me and showed me their way of living without being preachy. In retrospect I was the dickhead! Total freakin dickhead! Arriving at the RV, Dwayne told me I could sleep inside and insisted that I did. I explained I couldn't relax unless I could look up at the stars throughout the night. I took off my shoes and climbed in my sleeping bag clutching my knife as I fell asleep.

In the morning when Mr. Sun painted some golden rays across my stupid face I woke up with a new found vigor. I was ready to get to Portland and explore. Dwayne was up and insisted that I take a shower, and on this trip a warm shower is something I don't pass up! I got rad-ly naked and hopped in the shower only to realize that it trickles out cold water only. Freezing, I washed my hair and got out. Dwayne made a pot of coffee for me while in the shower which was nice, but the night before he asked if I wanted coffee in the morning and I told him I don't drink it. Upon reminding him of this he looked bummed and told me he doesn't drink it either and it would be a shame to waste it all. I thought about the story they told the night before about the jerk of a professor who bought everyone doughnuts without asking and made someone do push ups when they weren't eaten. Having learned my lesson I drank the damn coffee. I figured I would have a cup or two and be off. Dwayne was a hard hitter though, and had "the greatest story ever told" on vhs and I was immediately swept away. I drank the whole pot of coffee and made it through the first tape like nothing. Before the second tape could be put in there were some strange people arriving at the park. Dwayne, being the park's host had to sort out this mess. Apparently a church group reserved a spot to do baptisms in the stream and another group was at their spot. The church lady was having a fit and giving Dwayne and his wife a hard time. I have to admit I wanted to stick around and see all this baptism stuff go down but I was so amped up on coffee I had to get the hell out of there. With the proper good byes and thank you's I was on my way once more!

Arriving in Portland

I got to Portland without much fuss except for my crazy coffee dump along the way. If you do the crime your gonna do the time. I wasn't too sure where I would be staying but since I had a couple friends, I wasn't worried. Besides, there's plenty of camping to be had in Portland. I called my friend from Connecticut, Kalashia who recently moved up there. I found my way to the southeast side of P-town with no trouble and met up with her. Even though I had only been on the road a few days since Headwaters I was still pretty wiped out. Kalaisha told me she was seeing a dude named Patrick and was always at his house so basically I would have the apartment to myself. Her cat Bella however would be keeping me company, Bella was a fluffy fucker to whom I took an immediate liking and petted the crap out of.

Most of my six days or so in Portland was a blur, I went out a little but mostly stayed in the apartment and listened to Kalaisha's Misfits box set, singing along to the words I guess I had wrong all these years. I was invited out to meet her scooter gang friends and wasn't too sure if there was going to be a moped vs. scooter fight. From what I gather there are some places where mopeds hate scooters and scooters hate mopeds. Some people don't know the difference between the two. A scooter goes around 60-70mph, is highway legal and costs a few thousand for a new one. A moped goes 30-35mph is not highway legal, is a two-stroke 50cc engine, has pedals so you can ride it like a bike, and costs around $700-$1,000 new. It's cool to go fast, but really a moped is all I need.

Kalashia, happy to greet me

After flying through town trying to keep up with Kalaisha on her scooter, we got to the bar and partied down scooter style. I did not get punked for having a moped and all went well. I tried my best to down some Pabst but found I couldn't. This would be the start of me losing all my drinking skills I've gathered over the years. I had just spent all this glorious time in nature and experienced the magic of a sweat lodge, and here I am with a pitcher of Pabst. I never felt more bored of alcohol. I talked with some dudes and they seemed pretty cool, one of them, Bob, loved mopeds and wanted to start a chapter of the Moped Army called “the puddle cutters”. The Moped Army is a cool website that offers a forum for moped riders from all over and has different chapters in different states. We talked about mopeds and scooters for awhile and I told of my plans to head north to the Gifford Pinchot national forest where in 2001 The Skookum cast was made. Named Skookum because it was cast near Skookum meadows. The Skookum cast is a huge plaster cast that apparently shows where a sasquatch sat down and had some fruit. Skookum is a Native American word for powerful. Supposedly this area of the forest is really beautiful and can be creepy. I wanted to spend some time in there. While in Portland I tried to locate a good map of the area in question. Needless to say, I couldn't find one due to lack of hustle and figured I would just wing it. As the weekend was coming up Kalashia told me that she was going south to a scooter rally campout and I should go. Bob reminded me that there was a moped rally in Seattle that weekend as well. Feeling recouped and ready for action I decided to head for Seattle. I would have to skip going to Gifford Pinchot but this would mean that I could go to the Olympic forest after Seattle! I always wanted to go there but didn't think I could make it this summer on my moped. If I timed it right I could stop at Gifford Pinchot on my way back to Portland where I would meet up with Brianna and her band, the rap duo known as “Foxy Autopsy”. They were doing a Northwest tour from Southern California to Vancouver then home. I would be getting a ride home with them in a little over 2 weeks, so I had to pack in as much squatchin' and mopeding as I could.

part 4 - back to Happy Camp

2010-07-10T18:03:00.000-07:00

Back at Happy Camp

pedin' past Shasta

Figuring Happy Camp should have had the whole "capture of bigfoot" thing wrapped up by now, I headed west. Excitement rose out of Yreka, then one of the worst days of my trip started. I got a little more than 4 miles out when pop goes the tire. Now, it was friggin hot that day, not as hot as the sweat lodge but close, over 100 degrees. I pulled off the road around midday and took everything off the moped. I got the tire patched in 45minutes. It wasn't easy but it seemed to be fixed so I threw everything back on and took off down the road. About 30 feet later I got a flat tire again, long story short, 3 hours and 5 tire changes later I finally got it! I put everything back on once again and started off, I got another 30 feet and the tire went flat. I almost lost my shit. I'll admit that I cried a little but since I ran out of water earlier I sucked it up because I was afraid I'd dehydrate more. Obviously these patches weren't working and I had to go back to town. I pushed my moped and all the crap gear with it the 4 miles back into town. The first motel I saw I checked into even though I was against wasting money on such luxuries. I got myself all showered up and fed. The right state of mind made sure the proper patchwork gone done. The rest of the night was spent watching animals on TV and talking to Brianna who I missed more than ever.

The next day I headed off for my 4 hour trek to Happy Camp. Almost as soon as I see the town center I shit you not my tire goes flat! Right before that happened I saw a sign for motorcycle camping. I went there hoping they would have the proper tools to fix this crap tire. Along my way I saw a nice little white trash family having a cookout. I asked if they knew where the motorcycle camping place was and they laughed at me and said "keep walking" in a menacing kinda way. Apparently not everyone was happy in Happy Camp. The camp area was two houses down, so I popped in. It seemed like a redneck hideaway and not needing to hear "get that pussy bike outta here", I kept ahead looking for the perfect spot. I hid the moped off the side of the road and set up camp near a small stream and partied with some mosquitoes all night. They had more of a party than I did. Mid morning I headed to Java Bob's to see about my big newspaper interview as well as the capture of bigfoot! I pushed the moped two miles into town and ordered a turkey sandwich learning to my utter surprise that bigfoot was not officially captured! It seemed weird that I dedicated my summer to look for bigfoot and here I was in this little town where there was supposedly the bigfoot story of a lifetime!

heavy metalsquatch

Well, I found out the guy who had bigfoot cornered was Tom Biscardi, whose name rang a bell. It was hard to get a straight answer as to what happened with this whole sighting thing. The rumor I heard was that a forest service worker spotted an eight foot creature cross the road. Eventually Tom Biscardi comes in and tracks it to a cave where he gets a biologist to get a tranquillizer ready for it. I may have got the "facts" mixed up a little but it was close to that. I felt there was something fishy about the whole thing and it seemed that people were kinda tight lipped about what was going on. It was so hot at Happy Camp, I couldn't see how a bigfoot would be dumb enough to live there with all that fur on its body. Biscardi's theory is that squatches migrate near town in the summer, but this made no sense to me. As the bigfoot story started to unfold and more people in town were saying they saw one, I just kinda lost interest. Tom Biscardi and his Great American Bigfoot Research crew were days away from coming in to throw down on this Bigfoot capture, and though it seemed like something to stick around for, I was itching to go further north. But first, I needed some repairs.

I called my main moped man Shaun down at Myron's Mopeds, and he sent out two new tubes muy rapido! It would take about 3 days to arrive so until then I would be forced to get to know the town.

As I fiddled with the moped outside of Java Bob's an inquisitive Gallagher looking dude rolled up and was all "you're the guy that rode a moped all the way here, huh?" He seemed kinda jumpy and kept trying to get his bald head out of the bright scorching sun. He introduced me as the moped guy from "smell-A" to anyone that came to the coffee shop.

His shirtless, cut-off jean shorts wearing ass offered me to go toking on a joint. When I declined he told me he was just kidding anyways. I told him I was just kidding too, then he asked me if I wanted to again to which I replied "no thanks"! After awhile of this I decided I needed to get the hell out of town. Java Bob and his family were awesome enough to let me store my moped in the garage for a few days. So I went squatching.

I walked a few miles out of town, exploring hills, streams and woods for clues. I found the biggest freshest best smelling pile of bear crap that I have ever seen. Berry season made the woods chock full of them and I wondered if anyone's ever fried up a bear turd?
I spent the hot days in the cold cool greenish river where I found bits of jade. Turns out, years ago this very river was one of the biggest producers of jade in America.
During dusk and dawn I looked for bigfoot clues. At night I watched the stars. By the end of three days I was ready to go. My curiosity of the Pacific Northwest was getting the best of me. bigfoot "hotspot" or not, I was ready to explore rain forest country. I decided to go straight north towards Portland instead of going out of the way to the Cascades. Although impressed by the mopeds ability to climb mountains at about 5-10mph, I wanted to get farther north.

Myron's package arrived on time and I popped on that new tube with a smile. I had another turkey murdered into sandwich form by Bob's son. He weirdly appeared to be "mad dogging" me when I wasn't looking his way. When I caught his glance he would still have his mad face on, hold it for a couple awkward seconds then slowly smile. This happened a couple of times and made me happy. I love shit like that. Later he told me a tale of coming face to face with a cougar in his backyard. Maybe that cool semi creepy gaze saved his life that day. After the sandwich was annihilated my interview took place.

I sat down with the editor of the Happy Camp News online newspaper, Linda. She reminded me of an old whimsical hippy lady who seemed wise and knowledgable yet dazed at the same time. She had a notebook and a pencil and asked what brought me to Happy Camp. As I told my story I noticed that she barely wrote anything down. I just figured she was one of those people who retain all knowledge in their minds. But 3 months later when I checked the website my story was still not there. I assume that either the version of my story I told was too boring or she forgot everything I told her. Last time I checked the site there was a story of a dude who threw an open can of beer in a cop's face who then let loose the police dog chasing the guy into the Klamath River where both man and dog drowned. A sissy 800 mile moped ride can't compete with that!

Promptly upon finishing my interview this weird man rolled in looking like an old time miner. Bob introduced us and as he reached his hand out there was a pause before the shake when I noticed his hand was a stump with a couple small protruding finger- looking things. I thought about my turkey sandwich, then I thought about the turkey gizzard hand in front of me, not wanting to be rude I reached my hand out just as the man yelled, "oh come on! Shake this god damn thing", as he chased me with it. My immediate response was that this guy rules. I shook his hand thing, pleased to meet a great human.

I also met a relative of Bob's, Bill, who oversees Curly Jack campground down the road. He invited me to stay the night so I headed over to the campground spending yet another night on top of a picnic table looking up at the stars. In the morning Bill woke me up and we hung out in his RV. He was a retiree who went around the country with his wife in their RV. Their gig was to get paid to take care of different campgrounds. They only had to keep the toilet paper in the bathrooms, shit off the walls and kids quiet after 10pm. Bill reminded me of Hank from the King of the hill cartoon. The kind of guy that put his time in, payed his dues, and now reaps the rewards!

There was a Christian rafting group staying there and he knew their schedule well. "Let's get over there by 8 so we can scam some breakfast off these guys". He was a reminder to me that, much like my Grandparents, you can still be rad when you're old. We scuffed down some crappy breakfast from some less then thrilled Christian rafters, some of which looked like they were in a Christian metal band or something. Soon after I had to say my good byes and thanks to Bill and his wife and head off to Oregon!

part 3 - wilderness school

2010-07-10T16:22:00.000-07:00

Marble Mountains

The Beautiful Marble Mountains!

Whatever extra time I thought I had quickly disappeared with every wrong turn on the windy mountain roads. I was now late to the designated trailhead meeting spot for the Headwaters school. The steep terrain and heavy crap I brought stressed the mopeds small little engine, but I wasn't riding a quitter! I finally arrived as the sun was setting. I killed the engine and pedaled in to the camping area. Taking advantage of the bicycle aspect of the moped, the silent mode!

Attending to my half falling off gear I overheard " Is he here for the class"?

"ya, he's gotta be"!

Well goal number one was reached, 700 moped miles to get to Headwaters. I may have been sunburnt, dehydrated and half crazy but at least I was still alive!

maybe whitey should of stayed inside

At dark we all gathered around the fire. Tim, the head instructor, asked us why we were there. The answers ranged from the fear of societies' collapse, trying to learn more about nature or simply just wanting something to do. My favorite was from an 11 year old girl telling how she "just wants to get dirty and climb trees and get dirty and walk barefoot and get dirty".
When it was my turn I didn't have the elegant speech in my head ready. I had barely even talked to anyone all week. My lips and nose were cracked and peeling, I smelled like crap, there were 25 people staring at me and now it was my time to shine! Curious about the guy who just spent 6 days riding a moped from LA, the crowd was attentive. "I'm here to learn skills that will help me flow and live in the forest better, so I can find bigfoot".
It seemed to me that it didn't go over too well. I think a few people thought my plan was cool and others thought I was crazy. Turns out everyone was right. That crap was crazy cool. Either way I had the next 7 days to convince them otherwise.
Tim was next to speak and although borderline delirious, I perked up a bit listening to the week long course outline. As he sat there Indian style around the glow of the campfire I couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance to the bear hunter guy in the movie "Jeremiah Johnson". He looked like a rugged mountain man with his long white beard and wide brimmed hat. I liked this guy already which was good because I was about to spend two weeks learning from him and he already had my money!

Jeremiah and Bear Claw Chris Tim

Tim gave a long, sweeping talk and was right on point. I knew I was in good hands. Many of my friends couldn't understand why I would pay to go to the woods and, frankly, I kind of wondered too. By sleep time I knew I was at a good school with a good group and made an awesome decision.

It would be a six mile hike to our destination in the morning. Since I showed up late I didn't get a chance to set up a sleep area so I tried to sleep under a truck but then an animal stepped on me so I slept on a picnic table. Then it rained on me so I covered up in a tarp.
It seemed like as soon as I fell asleep as was awakened by Julie, the camp cook, telling me to get my ass off her table. Oh well, it was a good try for sleep.
Our day started with breakfast then we packed up and hiked into the Marble Mountains. We headed to an old hunting camp that was used by the Karuk Indians many years ago. When we arrived at the camp, a rag tag bunch of Tom Sawyer-type kids met us with bare feet and dirt all over. I thought, "this is going to rule".

The next week did in fact rule. Tim suggested to us that while we were out there we eat plants, climb trees, and get dirty. Every night there was a salad that Walter, Tim's right hand man and plant expert, harvested and it was always the bomb. My favorite was the wild onion that grew up there, sweet and tasty! Besides learning native Marble Mountain plants, we also did a lot of exercises in awareness. When I heard we were to look for a special rock that called out to us, or that we had to go sit by a tree for an hour, my "logical" mind was having a fit. I gave it my crappiest best shot and have to admit there was something to it. For our special rock exercise we found a rock we liked and held onto it for most of the day for 3 or 4 days, then at the end of the week we all put our rocks into a bag which ended up to be about 30 rocks, then we were told to reach in and see how fast we could find our rock. It was weird to see the people who I would have guessed to be the most in touch with this stuff pull out their rocks in seconds flat. I got mine so fast that when I looked at it I didn't think it was mine. That was pretty cool but I was still skeptical so I tried it again and grabbed that sucker almost as fast again! I'm a believer!

In the mornings there were "Bear walks" where a small group of us stalked out looking to spy on Bears making their early morning rounds. I considered these to be Bigfoot walks and kept a keen eye out for those furry jerks. My group didn't come across any Bears or bigfoots, but another group did see a black Bear one morning. No one saw a sasquatch, but Tim did tell me that the father of the guy who runs the pack horses to our camp saw sasquatches twice during his many years of horse packing! One time I guess he saw two peering through some bushes at him. As they took off through the woods he got a clear look and saw they were ape-like! These stories only inspired me more to pay attention to the exercises.

Log riding at Shadow Lake!

My favorite lessons were the camouflage and stalking games which was basically ninja or Apache scout training! Covering ourselves in mud and sticks, belly crawling around trying to sneak up on people was a crapload of fun. Some of the other highlights were drinking out of the fresh spring, seeing the sun rise in the mountains, smelling fresh bear shit, seeing an entire knotweed plant disappear by being sucked into the ground by a hungry gopher, almost stepping on, then picking up and petting a baby grouse, finding a really old pressure flaked obsidian arrowhead, seeing a squirrel Tim found that was dropped from the sky by a hawk, swimming with salamanders at shadow lake, visiting an ancient Indian alter on a cliff, and meeting many like minded people from different backgrounds.

There were many touching times during that week. The most dramatic was the harvest of a 100 year old Angelica plant whose roots would be dried for next year's sweat lodge ceremonies. I've read the secret life of plants and knew that plant life is possibly very close to animal life. However, up until that point I never felt the loss of a plant. Digging up that plant was like killing an animal. Apparently Angelica is a very powerful feminine cure-all and its roots grow deep into the earth. We gathered around the plant in a circle, bare foot with digging sticks. We dug down around the roots as we sang a Indian prayer song. This whole experience was very surreal. I sat on the outside of the circle and felt part of some weird cult for a second, seeing all these people singing strangely and digging with sticks way up in the mountains. It was crazy how long it seemed to take to get to the bottom of the roots! When the plant was finally pulled out I felt tears come down my cheek. It might as well been screaming for its life and probably was. I had respect for plants before, but this put life in a whole new perspective for me. I got to say, that was truly one of the most pivotal moments I've ever had in the natural world. I don't know, maybe they were spiking the wild salad that day, but I can tell you that I'll never again cut down a plant without a damn good reason.

HWOS Mt. Shasta

On the last day we gathered up our gear and made the site look better than when we arrived. The pack horses hauled our stuff in but we had to carry all our stuff back out. It took a while to hike out and I was very sore because my backpacks waist strap broke. At the trailhead Tim let me put my moped in his truck since it was just about out of gas. I rode from the Marble Mountains to the Mount Shasta camp with Walter in his "van palace", furnished with a hammock and booming sound system! I think Walter said stuff during the ride but I'm not sure because that sound system was loud and rocking!

When we got to Tim's land I couldn't believe it! There were awesome herb gardens, rock gardens, a stone labyrinth, fresh drinkable stream water flowing through the land, bark teepees dotted across the landscape, a meditation area, plenty of woods to explore, a sweat lodge area and outhouses that give outhouses a good name.

This week was the wilderness skills class in which we learned to make fire with different types of wood, how to construct animal traps, how to make spears, how to make rawhide, and how to skin and gut an animal, demonstrated on a recently killed goat. The goat's name was Coco and she was chosen for slaughter because she was a bad mother and had crappy milk. Joe Dabil and Walter taught most of these classes. Joe has taking a liking over the years to the smell of rotting flesh and is more of a man then most. On the work table ready for skinning we found a squirrel, a dead gopher I think, the goat skin, a raccoon, a deer skin and a big bear skin that needed a whole lot of work.

bear skin ready for scraping

The animals were skinned using obsidian, which is volcanic glass and still one of the sharpest objects in the world. Some modern surgeries are used with this. Cutting the skin off the fat was fairly easy with these sharp buddies. The combination of stink, flies, and sweat was intense but a lot of elbow grease finally got the job done. Scraping the rotting fat off the skin in 90 degree heat was more challenging. The next step was to scrape the hide with a draw knife like in the picture below.

here's a random internet lady scraping fat from a hide

After a couple more steps your ready to brain tan! Making your own piece of natural leather using the animals brains is something people have done all over the world for thousands of years. The brain acts as a softening agent and most animals brain size is equivalent to what's needed to process their hide. Besides, there is something nice about learning the potential uses of all parts of an animal. On the other hand, commercial leather is produced with extremely harmful chemicals that degrade its natural qualities. So I say it might be hard smelly work, but is definitely not a useless skill!

Coco the goat

One of the first skills we learned was shelter building. Some of us made little forts of bark and debris to sleep in the rest of the week. I made mine under a big Jeffrey pine tree with just enough room to fit my backpack. It was pretty secluded but I did have a neighbor, a blind kid who shared my first name, Craig. Craig was there the week before in the Marble Mountains and crossed logs, climbed mountains and did everything everyone else did, just a little slower. It was pretty crazy that he made it through what he did since most of it comprised of crossing logs, streams and rocks!

a permanent bark shelter

As the week of skill building came to an end, I realized if I had to rely on these newly learned skills for real I would be pretty screwed. To walk out into the woods with nothing but a knife sounds great when your reading about it. In between pizza slices and root beer floats you have time to think to yourself " I could do that crap"! Sure our ancestors did that all the time but they lived that way. It was common knowledge. Today most people can't even sharpen a knife right. I was pretty much one of those people. I was comfortable in the woods but at least knew how little I really knew. This school would mark the first step of me trying to learn more about what we forgot.
The last day was wrapped up with a sweat lodge ceremony. My old roommate, Danny, would always tell me how great they were, so I was curious. The lodge itself was dome shaped and covered with a thick heavy canvas. Several large stones were heated up in a huge fire pit outside and we all got in our shorts while we waited for the stones to glow orange. There was a cold mountain stream that flowed around the back and some people dipped in first but it was too cold for me. Tim grabbed his drum and we all piled in. When the door was shut it was so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of you! Tim talked a little about what was about to happen and to let him know if anyone needed to get out. Then the first stone was brought in and we welcomed it. The stone was then sprinkled with some Angelica root and it made a sparkling mist that was straight Harry Potter shit! When he poured some water over the stone the steam rose. As soon as you could feel the heat a song started with the beating of his drum. It wasn't a song with words it was more like hi-ee-waka-hey- or something but it was awesome.

canvas covered sweat lodge

By the 9th stone the heat was unbearable. The singing bordered on screaming. It's hard to describe just how crazy this was, the heat was hotter than hot, sweat poured out of every pore, my legs cramped, I felt that passing out was a very real possibility, and then, when it seemed like there was no way I could go on, it went on longer. Finally the door opened, cool air came rushing in, and slowly we filed out. The first thing we saw on our way out was the moon shining over Mount Shasta but It didn't quite look the same as before. I had to crawl around the side of the lodge to get to the stream because my legs were still cramping. I was able to pull myself up and stagger in. What was freezing to me 20 minutes before was now super freakin refreshing. I laid down face first and could feel my body drink in the water. In between breaths I looked around at the trees and plants that had the eerie glow of the moon on them, they almost looked alive as they swayed with the wind. Normally I would have felt a little creeped out but not now. I laid back down and swallowed up as much water as I could. It felt as if all the bad in my body was being replaced with this pure mountain water. This crap was as epic as it gets. It changed my life, I'm still not exactly sure how. I'm very grateful to Tim and all the volunteers who make The Headwaters School possible. The last night we spent around the fire saying thank yous and goodbyes. It was pretty heartfelt and sad but then Walter brought over a stump infested with huge 6 inch beetle larvae that we all roasted over the fire to eat. I was glad to be at Headwaters but was eager to get back on the road for some mopeding and squatching!

The highly elusive Timsquatch

Part 2- Long Beach to wilderness school

2010-07-05T19:16:00.000-07:00

I woke up on the 4th with a slight hangover trying to find a reason not to leave. I knew it was now or never if I had a chance to make it to Headwaters. I packed up the moped and said goodbye to Moe the cat and Brianna the girlfriend. Driving off sad and misty eyed, I knew how much I was going to miss them. At about the time my gentle little bitch eyes started to dry I narrowly escaped a blast from a SUV. The bastard came out of nowhere and almost took me out. Being only one town over from Long Beach, I really started to doubt if I could make it the next 700 miles. Before my takeoff on this day the farthest I had ever rode my moped was 20 miles to Myron’s Mopeds where they fixed and sooped up the hog for a safe trip.
I rode frantically like a chinchilla on speed past LAX airport navigating through the crazy airport traffic. I realized there would be no time for filming because it was too dangerous and scary. Following the fancy-people-path to Malibu I got some luxurious Jack in the Box. I shoved a crap burger down my dumb throat and felt it quickly work its way to my bowels. There was no time for pooping because it was time to get tough. The lolly gaggin' was over, it was time to move!
It could of been this attitude that got me into trouble down the street when I almost met my end once more. I was trying to make up time by full throttling it downhill. Out of nowhere my engine seizes resulting in a locked up back tire and a long squiggly skid to the side of the road. Adrenaline set loose and I couldn't believe I didn't crash or get hit by a car! (Balance grasshopper). I unloaded the moped and looked it over. I guessed I had too much weight on the back so I shifted some to the front. With the tire locked up, I thought I could just go home and get into a warm bed with my girlfriend and gently snack on baguettes with brie cheese. Unfortunately, my destiny could not be escaped. I stepped on the pedal and pushed down hard, there was a loud click, the tire unlocked and became pedal-able so off I went. With the sunset approaching, I jumped off the road to camp and spent the evening enjoying fireworks off in the distance. Right above me was the night sky with more stars than I’ve seen in a long time. Although I was road worn and lonely I could feel a surge of adventure and eagerness to get further north into bigfoot country.

(Lompoc to San Fran)

The next couple of days were jam packed with crap happenings. At first I laughed at the signs for "gusty winds" but when saw several large trucks swerving through this "Valley of the Strong Winds" I laughed no more. The gusty winds attacked me head on, and the sun attacked me from above with strong vigilance. Just when I thought all my foes had shown themselves, gravity attacked my buttocks through my not-padded-enough seat. This wicked combination of sun, wind and gravity would be my main situation wrecker for the first leg of the trip.

camo suit battling gusty winds!

Of course other problems would occur, every good adventure has to have them. When I pulled into the town of Lompoc I was greeted by a "hello" from a piece of glass and a "why don't you stay awhile" with a flat tire. This would be my first flat tire change and I really wasn't up for it. By now I had become sun-burnt as well as burnt-out. I tried my quick fix, a fix-a-flat for bicycles, but it wouldn't work for me this time. I was tired, dehydrated and ready to pay someone for my laziness. Searching for a local bike store I met a pirate bum. He had a rad three tired bicycle with a pirate flag and baby cart thingy on the back! We exchanged compliments on each others rides. I told him where I came from and he told where he came from.

"You see, I rode this here bike of mine up from San Diego and just took the freeways. Eventually I was pulled over by a CHP officer who told me that when there is no other way to get around a freeway bicycles are allowed by law to use the shoulder".

Since I already had to do that a little (and it was nerve racking) I was relieved to know that at least I could relax a little about "the heat" coming down on me. I found a shop, bought a patch kit and went to work with a little help from the kind shop owner. While changing the tire I noticed a few things missing from the back of the bike and cursed the gusty winds. This would not be the last time for cursing the winds. Besides almost blowing me off the road, into trucks, or blowing bugs into my face with the impact of a BB gun, they also made me cold and exhausted. I would have plenty of time to think about it too because the strength of the winds cut my speed in half. 15mph. Curse you gusty winds!!!!

By the time I got near San Francisco I thought I was going to pass out. It's weird how life can be. After two draining days of wind, sun, dehydration, and exhaustion I wasn't sure how much farther I could go. Further north the weather switched to being misty and wet. A nice change from the sun burning my face off but now I was cold and wet. Eventually I came upon a glorious youth hostel lighthouse!

$20 got me a hot shower and a much needed good night sleep in a room of three other travelers. I woke up to an odd looking old man packing up his ultra light bags; I guessed he was a bicycler. I complimented him on his setup and he told me, "In the jungle of 'Nam I learned real quick the difference between what I needed and what I wanted". We had a brief discussion about survival and the destructive way of man. Then almost side by side we parted ways. I went north to survival school and he went south and onto biking across Europe or something. He told me that my north route would lead through an extremely treacherous part of the road called "Devils Ridge". He told me that he takes a bus to pass through it, as do most bikers, and I should go around since that stretch of road kills people every now and then. Unfortunately I didn't have time so I was forced to go ahead. When I got to that part of the road I found a steep ass hill, a sheer cliff, speeding tractor trailer trucks, and certain death for a mistimed moped crossing waiting for me. I pulled off on the side of the road and pondered my existence and if it WAS about to end what did it all mean? I went for it. I ran pushing the moped uphill as fast as I could, my legs burned immediately cause this shit was steep and long. Finally I rounded the first bend, with no traffic! I rounded the second and hopped on and rode until I could pull over and feel brave. Bitchin!

Besides getting lost a couple times it was smooth sailing to SF. I came upon the golden gate bridge during rush hour, so cars were flying by. I knew that the local moped gang (The Creatures of the Loin) cross this thing and they offered to accompany me over upon emailing them about it. There wasn't time for me to get in touch so I decided to push my ass over it. I pedaled a little and took in the scenery of crappy tourists and their kids. Some people took pictures of me while some probably thought I was a some kinda weirdo-terrorist. I crossed over and was on my way.

(Bigfoot country I; Willow Creek)

I rode as fast as I could (33mph) cursing all the motorcycles flying by waving at me while making great time to their destinations. My sweet ride wasn't the fastest but it wasn't the slowest either. I sure did feel sorry for the bicyclers who always looked like they were having the worst day of their life. Not stopping for crap got me past Sonoma and Mendocino counties to my resting place of Arcata that night. I snuck into a campground and pitched my moped lean-to, reflecting upon some of the highlights so far. Some of this stuff wasn't epic in an earth shattering way but it was enough to affect me. There's something cool and terrifically gay about the way dark clouds are outlined by the sun peeking through the soft edges. Seeing a bird diving down into a stream to catch a fish, or having a deer run 10 ft. in front of you, hearing it's hoofs slipping on the pavement as you contemplate jumping on and catching a ride. Or how about seeing a deer run across the road and jump not over a fence, but instead, in between an eight inch gap in it's wires. When you're up at dawn and dusk traveling back roads you're bound to see some gentle magic.

gentle magic

My sixth day of mopeding would be my last for awhile because wilderness school was about to start. This would also be the day I was looking forward to the most because I would be going through classic bigfoot country. I started out before the sun came up and driving up the 101 to the 299 weaving my crappy ass up some light mountain heights to the town of Willow Creek. There's a bigfoot museum where just a couple years before I attended a two day symposium. Jane Goodall was a scheduled guest speaker but had to cancel at the last minute probably to save her credibility. It sucks cause I had a big crush on her at the time. I didn't care that she was in her sixties but then I found out she was married so I kind of blew it off. I respect matrimony dog, well, sorta. In between speakers I got to meet local bigfooter “Bobo” who took me under his wing and showed me the towns by driving 80mph around winding mountain roads to get to a punk show.
I still found the time to stare off into the surrounding mountains and daydream some real shitty stuff. I remember a great one where I stumbled upon a bear fighting a bigfoot. Eventually the bear starts to win and I come to the rescue, scare the bear off and heal the squatch. We go on to share wilderness living skills and play pranks on humans. These detailed fantasies would go so far as to have me ruining their life by weakening their diet with cooked food.

photo by Coco Chapelle

In Willow Creek it was a beautiful day to have breakfast at the only stop in town. I forget its name, but just imagine a log cabin setting with old time saws that old time white dudes used to hack everything up with. On the walls were more mounted animals than you could shake a stick at. So yeah, it was the perfect place to eat some pancakes. Waiting for my order I looked around and saw a fairly large bigfoot poster that had a list of the sightings in the area. It included the most famous, that happened a few miles up the road at Bluff Creek. The blurry Bigfoot footage known as the Patterson/Gimlin film. Patterson, while on his deathbed, claimed it was real. The only other person that was supposedly there was Bob Gimlin, who to this day claims it was real. This crap has been talked about to death whether it's authentic or not and it's still hard to say. The series of footprint casts and pictures taken from the scene show a midtarsal break which I find interesting. A tracker named Bob Titmus checked the film site a few days later and left convinced it was a real creature because of toe movement in the tracks, pressure ridges and other lifelike clues! The only other reason I think it could be real is because Bob Gimlin says so and he's badass! He still breaks horses at almost 80 years old!

me and Bob Gimlin!

You know what would be even more interesting to see? Footage that wasn't blurry and far away. To my knowledge such footage doesn't exist. So does that mean bigfoot doesn't exist? Maybe, but one look at the vast Pacific Northwest wilderness especially in the place where I was standing, suggests there's plenty of room for some mysterious bastards to roam.

While paying my bill I threw out the "B" word to see what would happen. Well sure enough the waitress said that over the years of serving food to the locals she had heard all kinds of stories. She told me people she respected have had first hand sightings. Firemen, cops, and several hunters all had "encounters". Nothing gets me more excited then a good dose of circumstantial evidence! Now I was ready to hit the mean streets of Willow creek. I stopped for a photo in front of the famous wood carving of a bigfoot made by Jim McClarin in the town center and then headed off to get some gas.

At the gas station a rugged old biker man/dude pulled up and inquired about my ride. He introduced himself as Kelso, a motorcycle messenger for the Willow Creek area. He complimented my balls on riding this far on a 2-stroke 50cc bike then gave some advice.
He said "you're young and idealistic, you think you're invincible and you can take on the world. I used to be the same way. But I'll tell you one thing. The road will kill you! If you don't get off that bike soon, it'll catch up with you when you least expect it and TAKE YOU OUT…."
I told him it almost has and I know how easy it could happen. Now that I'm in logging truck territory and in the middle of nowhere I was almost expecting it. Kelso was a good man and I tried to reassure him I would heed his advice. But for now, I had a lot of miles to cover.
He wished me luck and said, "Hell, the most important thing is that you live your dreams brother".
"Live your dreams" was written on the other side of my moped where he couldn't have seen it! My crappy brain was psyched! I hopped on my hog and tore off into the unknown at flying high at 33mph.

(Bigfoot Country II; Happy Camp)

I was making good time for once so I slowed it down. I was after all cruising on "the Bigfoot scenic highway" as its called. This would turn out to be one of the best cruises on my trip. Luckily, I loved every second. It would have been weird to hate it. I could of pulled off almost anywhere to camp if I had the time. Every turn was an epic view! Riding a little past the town of Hoopa, I took a bath in a rushing stream. The water was so awesome I had to drink some. There aren't many people who would recommend doing this. I guess I feel that I don't want to live in a world where you can't take a sip from beautiful mountain streams occasionally. But in this day and age if I keep it up I could live in a world where I'll have beautiful streams of diarrhea in my pants! Back on the 96 the weather was perfect and cars were all but nonexistent! I was tempted to stop at Bluff creek but figured I wouldn't have time for much exploring so I kept on. Finally I arrived at the town of Happy Camp ready to get some lunch. I stopped at Java Bob's bigfoot Deli because a bigfoot Deli sounded like the bomb to me! I ordered up a turkey sandwich and read the bigfoot posters on the walls as well as postcards, T-shirts, stickers and a few articles on the subject. One of which described an in town sighting that happened about two weeks before. I asked the store owner, Bob, about it and he told me not only was there a sighting, but a bigfoot "hunter" had tracked one up into a cave planning to tranquilize it, take some blood samples, then release it back. I found that a little hard to swallow unlike the turkey sandwich which was quite good (that was a good one). He suggested I return after wilderness school to be interviewed for the local e-newspaper, the Happy Camp Times. I agreed and was on my way again with my head spinning. Wow, is a Bigfoot really going to be captured? Swedish television crews had already been there covering this soon to be hot story! We all know those Swedish television reporters are always ahead of the game. I wanted to stay and be a part of this historic event but had already planned and paid for Headwaters school so off I went to find my own Bigfoot!.......................at the Happy Camp post office.

Part 1 - Intro yo!

2010-07-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

Reading a story about someone who went looking for bigfoot means that you don’t have to skip to the end to find out what happened. I might not have found the big smelly guy but bigfoot sure did find me. Much like some discover the power of Jesus, I was suddenly consumed with the idea to go on the ultimate camping trip for bigfoot. Stopping wherever I felt, tracking down any mystery that crossed my path! I'd be getting my tits wet in bigfooting and testing myself against weird unknown forces. It all seemed pretty necessary to me at the time.

alcohol has fueled countless crappy dreams

In the summer of 2005 I left Long Beach, California on a shabbily packed moped and headed 3,000 miles off into bigfoot country. You are about to read the story of my first attempt at “squatching” otherwise known as "looking for bigfoot".

photo by Dave Clark

As a kid, I always liked bigfoot but I thought there was just one and it probably died long ago. I got a little older, read Ivan T Sanderson’s landmark book on the subject and figured there had to be more to these bigfoot legends. 'Twasnt long before my bookshelf was filled with books by modern day bigfoot researchers.

While reading about modern day bigfoot hunters, I realized they seemed to have the worst luck out of all the other “hunters”. Most do not carry guns, instead opting for lightweight video, game, and thermal cameras. Unfortunately when they get their shot, it's blurry, too far away or is a buddy in a bad suit. Being no stranger to shooting blurry footage I figured this crap is right up my alley! And since I like being in the woods and had a video camera the only logical thing for me to do with my life was to get on a moped, and go take a video of bigfoot.

There’s a line in Sanderson’s book where he says something like, "perhaps the reason sasquatches haven’t been discovered is because no one has looked hard enough". This line was stuck in my head as I began training for my journey. I watched a few bigfoot documentaries to get up to speed on the latest bigfoot catching techniques. Then I would mix in an 80's ninja movie. If there was one lesson I learned watching 80's ninja movies it was this: To catch a ninja you must be a ninja.

Sasquatches are the ninja's of the forest, an apex predator with high intelligence yet gentle ways, experts in stealth and their natural surroundings. I was an expert in living the scumbag dream! Drinking crap beer, eating pizza, and going to punk shows. Man, I would have my work cut out for me! I knew I needed to get into shape if I was going to have a chance of not dying in the woods by being a dickhead. I found a school in the area that taught Ninjutsu and would soon learn many of its misconceptions. I would NOT be taught in the ways of flying, poison potions, spin kicks or catching bullets in my teeth but would obtain some very useful self defense and awareness skills. Skills I would later use in order to ride a moped for hours day after day.
I also started practicing survival/primitive skills. Starting with some tracking basics as well as learning local animal habits to gear me up for the “big trip”. Learning from books didn't feel like enough for me so I found Headwaters Outdoor School in the Mount Shasta area run by Tim Corcoran. I signed up for two weeks of wilderness skills classes. The first week would be in the Marble Mountains, a place that had a history of bigfoot sightings! Now that some of the pieces of my trip were coming together I was ready to go. After all, I only needed some of the pieces, not all, because that's the way I roll! I planned a loose route, driving up the California coast to Arcata, then heading east to the Headwaters school, then hitting bigfoot hot spots all the way up to Washington's Olympic Peninsula. As far as I was concerned now, the only thing left to do was pull this crap off!

John Hagler, me, a yeti, and Dan Destructo

Not being responsible enough to properly own a car I bought a moped from an ex-girlfriend after she tried to mace me on one confusing sunny day. Checking how far people have gotten on a moped brought me to a website by a guy named Walter Muma who spent three months in 1978 riding a moped 11,500 miles or so around Canada. Seeing that, I knew that my 2004 Tomos Sprint could definitely make it, and that took care of my transportation. Besides, on a moped you get 100 miles to the gallon, see the countryside, and easily hide it along side the road for extended back country hikes. Sure the top speed is 35mph and I couldn't carry much with me, but who cares? Right?!

As the clock ticked away toward my planned departure date I found myself in a new and unexpected relationship with a fine lady. She introduced me to a world of white wine spritzers, beer that cost more than $5 a six pack and delicious foods such as spanikopita! It felt as if I shouldn't leave because things finally started to feel right, love was pretty bitchin' and my life was getting fairly radical. However, I’m a stubborn jerk and had to “Live my dreams”.

Even though I planned all this crap for months, there was no plan. The only place I needed to be was at the Headwaters school. I wasn’t sure how many days it would take to get from Los Angeles to the Marble mountains (it was hard to plan mileage on back roads), but I was sure I could at least do over 100 miles a day. So I kept pushing the day I would leave back. I finally settled on leaving the 4th of July. The night before two of the best bands in my world were playing, Dillinger Four and Toys That Kill!

Toys that Kill
They were rocking an awesome festival called “fuck ya fest” in Silverlake, so me and Brianna (my special lady) drove out. We found it hard to navigate through the oodles of hipsters with meticulously planned sloppy hair cuts and feathered mullet bullshit hair. Needing to moisting my crapmouth we ducked into a Mexican dive bar. Upon entering we were greeted by Dillinger Four! After much beers and talk of my sasquatch Ex”ped”ition, I realized that what I had dreamed about doing for months was about to become a reality, whether I was ready or not. Mopeding through the Pacific Northwest looking for Bigfoot sounds ridiculous to many but is something I put everything into and on the line for. I gave myself 2 months and a per diem of about $12 and now it was time to stop being a pussnuts and ride.