chapter 15 – Bruno takes a trip…
Excerpts from Bruno's Journal. Used with his permission.
today
the seasons all change
who changes with them
can i, may i, please wake up
I started with a haiku, to dash the perceptions that Mulligan made in his first book and in Murder at Bcon– me as strictly a tough guy, an enforcer. And right now, let's set the record straight. I never shot no bullies for Mull. He just wished I had. Shooting bullies is a bad idea. All I did was have a little chat with them. I told them to back off or I'd beat the shit out of them. They were chicken shit, and besides they all got suspended right after for vandalism. So they backed off. Best solution is to let them live their miserable little lives which I am sure they are, right now. So there is a kinder, gentler side to Bruno. Honest. And at this moment, Mr. Big has asked me to pick up a Falcon in California. That's the car, not the bird. I think the birds are scarce and protected. You see – kinder and gentler. I was to pick up a 65 Falcon Squire Station Wagon. They only made about 1700 for 3 years, so they are collector cars. And Mr. Big likes em.
I had decided to take a vacation ride at the same time. A round about way to get the wagon to the Caymans. I'd tell Mr. Big that I was just testing it out for him. I was just going to drive up the coast of California, then across most of Canada and head south.
I was on vacation so I had a cell phone for emergencies only. I turned it off, and disabled the voice mail. I left my satellite phone at home.
the rest of todays
I decided to drive by the Universal Life Church in Modesto, California. I had become an ordained minister, just in case I ever had to do a wedding – like for the rich tourists in the Caymans. I got the scoop from the church of Ed Wood. It seems that the founder had discovered the Universal Church convenient in terms of getting ordained. And you can to boys and girls! Just start off by going to the Ed Wood site, the actual religion/spiritual belief being called woodism or the church of heavenly wood. Ed Wood was a director known for making possibly the worst movies ever made, such as Plan 9 from Outer Space, and trying to get Bela Lugosi help for his morphine addiction. There's lots more about him on the site - http://www.edwood.org/
There is a link on the site to the Universal Life Church. Their web site is
http://ulconline.com/
You just go to it, send an email and presto, one more minister.
So I get off the plane, take a long cab ride, and get the car. First, I realize the car has been in storage a long time. That means those little rubber and plastic parts are cracked or about to. Thank god for AAA. If you ain't got it, get it. And the second thing I figured was the seller was a curber, in this case an internet curber. Now a regular curber is a person who picks up a used car at a good price. Then he immediately advertises it again at a higher, going price. You know right away because he is always using a pager # or another person's #. He is very hard to trace. And when you go to see the car, it's still in the original owners name. Why? Well the curber tells you that he bought the car for his girlfriend and she didn't like it, so rather than change ownerships (which costs of course), he has just left the ownership as is. He truly lives on the curb.
Meet the new generation of internet curbers. So when I get the ownership, it's in someone else's name. And he explains that I might want to get out of state quickly as he has put on phony plates, 'from another of his cars'. So I figure that I'm ok as long as the plates ain't stolen and of course I don't want to get stopped for any reason and have the plates ran. So off I head for Modesto.
It looked like a great place to stay. From its web site,
http://www.ci.modesto.ca.us/, I remember that its population is 180,000 and it is located in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley which has very fertile soil. Dairy products, almonds, apricots, melons, tomatoes, wine grapes, peaches, walnuts… Good web site.
I drove around to the church, as that really was my only mission in town. I went in and bought some supplies from the office staff, some marriage documents and such to send to the Caymans for those early love tourists.
Then I went around to the chief minister dude as Mull wanted some land declared part of the church, so to speak, strictly for upright minister type reasons you realize, strictly unrelated to property tax reasons of course.
The conversation went something like this,
Me (Bruno): how do ya do brother. I'm one of your ministers, dropped by.
(I figured that beat 'hey dude, how's it going'.)
Minister: Welcome, sir. Are you the person who sent me an email about declaring some land as a church for waiving property tax?
B: That's was my friend, ah, sir.
M: Well, I get a lot of those requests, and am going to sort through them one day. (Nice, down home way of saying no.)
B: Do only that which is right. (That's what it says on their web page.)
While you're at it, go to deathclock.com for a wakeup call.
I turned and left, driving away, looking for a road going north.
I was getting close to the main Redwoods park in northern California. i've been here and been there never seen a tree hole to see the sun thru Redwoods can grow as long as 2000 years, reach heights over 300 feet, and 22 feet wide. Remember the old fire towers on hills (I guess there may be a few left), they were 100 feet and pretty spooky to climb. The good news is that 45 % of the old growth redwoods are preserved in parks. The bad news is that 55% are not protected. Redwoods rejuvenate in a certain way and will not do so when cut. Makes ya wonder about that redwood deck. I imagined that the park with the drive thru tree would be large and crowded. It is actually a private site outside the park, run down, and was virtually empty. No line up at the drive thru tree. At least there wasn't a voice asking if I wanted fries with that. I took a picture of the car inside the tree for Mr. Big, hoping that the car wouldn't stall and become a fixture. The most fun actually was the kid's tree house that was built inside a hollow tree. It was tight getting up the tiny stairs but I managed to get to the top room and stare out the tiny window at no one to take my picture. I went to the state park headquarters, and bought little redwood seed kits in a little plastic container to give to the Botanical Gardens in the Caymans. Maybe in their greenhouses to start. They also had these really cool things. It had a stone with a hole in it, hanging on a string. It listed how to tell the weather. If the stone was swinging back and forth, it was windy. If the stone was wet, it was raining. If the stone had snow on it, it was snowing. If the stone was warm, it was sunny. Now all I needed was a fossil with a hole made in it. There were lots around Mount Baker where giant worms had left their holes after the volcano had erupted. But alas, Baker was not on my route this time and besides, it's all parks and stuff and you know I wouldn't even take a stone out of a park.
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I had to drive thru part of Oregon. Somewhere Mull had written about hitchhiking thru Oregon. Stay on the back roads. Little village/town. A few houses, a gas station and a fuckin big micro brewery. Mull's goals were to try and hustle the female tour guides, drink as many samples as possible, and in true hobo tradition, try to get a job, increase the time for hustling and drinking and then move on to the next micro brewery. Me, I was just planning some stops at microbrews for some sampling. So I stopped at the first town past the border that looked like it would have a big grocery store. Usually a big selection at back of store. I was staring at the huge selection of microbreweries, when a man suggested that he could help me pick out the best. So he picked out his 12 individual favorites to make up 2 six packs. I thanked him profusely, and asked him if he worked there so I could compliment him to his boss. He said: "Hell, I don't work here, I'm the Miller rep."
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At some point I turned right. I wanted to go thru the American Okanogan and I wanted to avoid British Columbia. Kinda reminded me of avoiding Calcutta or wishing I'd avoided Istanbul. I had a friend who had been living in Victoria, that city more British than British. I'd recently got an email from him. Dear Brunosan, Just thought I'd send you an email as I understand that your journey may bring you close to B.C. I hear it every day. Another day in paradise. Another day in lotus land. I haven't seen one fuckin lotus here. They think it's shit hot cause it's warmer here in the winter than the rest of Canada and you can even grow stunted palm trees. Remember the 'good old' days? Vancouver Island was cheap. Lots of rivers to swim in nude. Every fall people picked magic mushrooms at leisure. Now the whole island has been taken over by the rich. And the fascists. They even managed to elect a fascist government. The new government only met for 48 hours in which time they gave huge tax breaks to their rich friends, and companies that the faschimo own themselves, revoked most of the union contracts, closed most court houses, fired most of the government workers, cutback on health spending, closed many schools, cut all welfare payments, and cancelled many disability pensions. Then they all went on vacation for about a year. El Duce himself partied it up in Hawaii where he was busted for DWI at 3 times over the limit. His popularity went up in the opinion polls! Now they push TV ads that show killer whales gracing the beach. Well that one spot is severely restricted, accessed by private charter boats only. Take Victoria for an example. Full of tourists trying to be impressed. The stupid mayor was surprised when the crime rate increased after they cut money and services to the poor. Blame it on the junkies! One downtown owner comes on TV to complain that when she went to park for work, some 'unsavory looking types' were near her parking spot so she had to circle the block. It took her 10 extra minutes to get to her biz. The solution? Bring out the fucking cops en masse one night and arrest everyone in sight. Presto. The junkies disappear. I guess they just up and quit cause of the police. Yeah, right. If you are rich and uptight, snobby and would never raise a finger to help anyone ever, this is the place for you! If you are at all relatively poor, have any human feelings at all, or think you can actually do some touristy things, forget it. Keep driving where you're headed and watch people leaving here en masse. have a fucking nice day, jb my friends call me up... oh what a tangled weave we web... and if not already stated, this email is confidential and subject to copyright and written without prejudice...
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hey, maybe he was just having a bad day...
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So driving thru the Okanogan. Another thing to avoid is the huge area called Hanford. This is where they dumped the nuclear waste from experiments to make the nuclear bomb to drop on Hiroshima. At the time, they were a little lax in their dumping techniques. Now Hanford is a huge dump of piles of nuclear waste that is leaking and ready to explode at any time. If it explodes, it becomes a huge nuclear explosion blowing right up the valley. And how much does it cost the government to keep this area from exploding? Only 2 billion dollars a year. And I hear the help wanted sign is up pretty regular like.
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Time to cross into Alberta, Canada. Now, I know, I know, it's another fascist government as well. The premier there just gets drunk, goes to homeless shelters, yells abuse at the residents, then throws loose change at their feet before his driver leads him away. At least he ain't driving drunk. And his popularity skyrockets. But I had to cross into Canada at some point, and get onto the prairies. And I didn't want to miss the windmills at Pincher Creek. Now borders have never been my strong point. It reminds me of crossing into Afghanistan from Iran. The shah was still dictator in Iran and the Russians were just about to invade Afghanistan. The Americans had built a special jail for foreigners caught smuggling hashish from Afghanistan. Iran looked like a mid west state, Afghanistan looked like the 17th century. And I'm just on a bus for foreigners to cross the border. The only transport across. And we are just waiting for the driver to get our bribes through (baksheesh), and a van is crossing from Afghanistan. The border guard comes rushing in, pointing at the van driver, '100 kilos, 100 kilos!'. As he is dragged away, his woman friend is screaming at the top of her lungs. Then there is the Pakistani, Indian border. They had recently had a small war so there was a 'no-man's/no-person's land' to walk thru with the temperature at about 130 degrees. Then at the border, the Indian border guards had a physic sitting up high. Every once in awhile, she'd point at someone and say '100 rupees in her purse'. Rupees were very cheap in Switzerland. And she was right. So borders and me don't mix. Here's how this crossing went. Border guard: What is your citizenship, Sir? Bruno (me): I live in __________. B.G. : Where are you headed? B. : I'm living in the Caymans at the moment. (I figured that if he knew where the Caymans were, he might be impressed, or if he didn't know, he'd have to ask, which was a diversion from say the phony plates). But I decided to drive across most of Canada before heading south. A bit of a vacation. B.G. : Do you have a passport? B. : Well I have my ______ passport as well as my Cayman Islands Residency. I knew once he got to asking about fruit, he was near the end and wasn't going to ask about the car. Cool and smooth. I got to the giant windmills in Pincher Creek. I decided to stay at a provincial park. Some nights I stay at a provincial park and then rationalize a nice hotel the next night. It looked like there was one out on a point. I got there and was alone. I guess it was too windy for other campers and any campground officials or rangers had all been laid off. Just my taste, quiet and free. wind is a constant blowing it's message i wonder what is it saying If you want to know more about Pincher Creek and it's amazing transformation to alternate power, the web site is http://pincher-creek.com/windenergy/ ------------------------------------------------ I wanted to take the southern route thru Alberta cause I wanted to avoid Calgary. Nothing really there except some pretend cowboys and hookers on the street. Also there was another reason. When I was quite young, I decided to hit the road for the first time. Why not hitch across Canada. I got to Vancouver, hitched way up north to help harvest some hay. There wasn't much else to do in terms of work, so I headed back east. I was stuck in the rockies and it was getting dark, when a transport stopped, all the way to Calgary. Let out on the freeway, 3 in the morning, gotta a ride. I got a bad feeling when the guy said he'd take me home cause he had a couple of chicks there and we could get laid. As soon as I backed off, his true colors showed as he pulled off the freeway and tried to molest me. I managed to fight off the fuckin creep, get out and run back to the freeway. Got a ride right away to make sure the creep wasn't coming back. I was lucky I didn't get trapped. I could have fought him off but may have had to kill him to do it. Bad memories that. A few fake cowboys wasn't worth the hassle. I hadn't seen many hitchhikers but came across 2 in the middle of nowhere, just past nowhere and just before you hit nowhere. They piled in, lots of room in the wagon. They only spoke French, heading back to Quebec. Now I speak some French from being in France and Morocco. So we struggled and I practiced my French. They immediately rolled a joint and were smoking it when a cop signaled for us to pull over. I hadn't been smoking as I gotta concentrate on the scenery and where we are going. I got lots of time to get stoned. As my friend says, 'there's a time and there's a place'. Well cop comes up to window, and before he gets there I tell Michel in the front to eat the joint. He does. The cop says he is just running a routine check on cars coming thru. Yeah, right. I show him my licenses, one from ______, one from the Caymans, and my international license. That either distracts him or impresses him. We have some small talk. He speaks French to the hikers, and off we go. We look at each other dumbfounded. The whole car reeks of dope. He surely could smell it. Maybe he could tell I hadn't been smoking, so why bother with the agro and paper work. I spelt out a new rule in French – if they wanted to smoke, we could stop at a picnic spot or a tourist stop, no more in the car. The only rule. They could handle it.
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Coming from the east, the prairies sneak up more quickly. You're driving in the woods and you suddenly look back at the line that is the end of the woods. From the west, you see it coming as you descend from the foothills. And yes, it's flat. Oh, the sunsets, oh the sunrises. the soil is very rich very dry last few years now how do i quench my thirst We stopped at a rest stop. Easy driving ahead, and I thought I'd blow their minds. The smoke they had was good, like you would normally get. But I had some bud that had been grown with great care from seeds from Amsterdam. I think it took them awhile to realize that they could hardly move. I hustled them back on the road and put on the only French CD I had. comme un sage by Harmonium (used with permission) copyright Serge Fiori Publishing Les Productions Harmonium (itunes: sadly only has some limited Harmonium-not comme un sage) (From album L'Heptade – still available new from Amazon.ca – on CD I think) C'est toujours pour l'amour qu'on devient fou Ça doit être plein d'amour parce que c'est plein d'fous tout partout Comme si on avait tous peur de se l'dire Qu'on a du mal à naître à se regarder mourir Comme un sage Monte dans les nuages Monte d'un étage Viens voir le paysage Laisse-moi voir ton visage J'voudrais pouvoir t'offrir le peu que j'sais Y'a deux importances, la première c'est toi pis moi L'autre, c'est qu'il nous reste encore un autre jour Le matin se lève encore sur toi, mon amour Comme un sage... Si j'pouvais t'offrir une place qui te ressemble Un lieu qui grandit, même si parfois nos mains tremblent Pour la première fois, l'hiver serait moins gris La neige pourrait rester blanche sur toi, mon pays Comme un sage... Chacun voit ce qu'il veut Même si le courant nous crève les yeux J'peux plus t'pousser plus loin Quand tu sais que j'me trompe, pis tu dis rien T'es près, t'es loin Pour te rejoindre, faut que j'marche sur les mains On oublie trop souvent Qu'on est en mouvement Le vent fait de son mieux Pour nous aider à changer d'air Le vrai vient quand il peut Quand on lui demande ce qu'il veut faire C'est beau, c'est clair Tes yeux me parlent, le temps se perd C'est bon d'entendre ta voix Au fond de moi... L'amour se prend un corps pour voyager Mais quand il vient chez nous, y'a peur de déranger Comme s'il était seul à pouvoir tout changer C'est fou quand on aime, la mort n'a jamais existé It is one of the most mesmerizing songs I have ever heard. The boys were in pleasant dream land. I snuck a look at the flatness.
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Did I tell you these 2 hitchhikers were professional auto mechanics? I guess if you believed in the version of karma where it's based on the past, this would qualify as good karma. Any number of times, something minor problem would crop up, they fly out of the car, speaking French in a frantic tone, and either fix the wagon or at least be able to get it to the next town for parts. I was becoming reliant on them. If I wanted a beer at a rest stop, it was there. I toyed with the idea of setting them up in the Caymans so I could have my own mechanics. But they had plans. And funny thing, the mechanics in the Cays don't fuck me around. Odd… We were in the heart of the prairies. Saskatchewan, Canada's birth place of socialistic thought and health care. The programs that are now being destroyed in most provinces by the fascists. We were sitting at a rest stop. Figured to stop at them all. Give the wagon a rest, did I tell you I'd named it the iguana mobile? Also these guys had a wicked marijuana habit. So I'm sitting there drinking a brew, they're having a brew and a joint. I'm reading a paper that happened to be there in recycling. I once in a while want to find out if the world exists or at least still pretends to. There was a good joke, based on a true story in Ireland. An Irish radio station was running a competition. Words that weren't in the dictionary but could still be used in a sentence. The prize was a trip. DJ: -- FM here. What's your name? Caller: My name's Dave. DJ: Dave, what's your word? Caller: Goan. Spelt g-o-a-n. Pronounced go-an. DJ: Now for the trip. What sentence can you use that word in that would make sense? Caller: Goan fuck yourself! The DJ cut the caller and took other callers, all unsuccessful. DJ: -- FM here. What's your name? Caller: My name's Jeff. DJ: What's your word? Caller: Smee. Spelt s-m-e-e. Pronounced s mee. DJ: Now for the trip. What is the sentence that you can use that word in that would make sense? Caller: Smee again. Goan fuck yourself! Try translating that joke to french. We were back on the road. We had been having some trouble with the carburetor. So we pulled over to check. We also realized that we were out of gas. Not enough to restart. The carburetor was easy. My local (in the wagon) mechanics discovered a loose gasket. 10 second fix. We still had no gas. But, ay matey, this is land locked Saskatchewan. Within 5 minutes, 3 cars pulled over to help. One family actually drove down the highway, bought gas, came back out of their way, and refused any money for the gas. I have never met a group of as nice people as those in Saskatchewan. They would be tied with the Nepalese for kindness. Remind me to tell you some stories of Katmandu and Nepal. Back on the road.
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I asked my 2 mechanics to look for a town that looked like it would have a library. I had left my notebook somewhere and wanted to get to email. Except I didn't want to read any email. Sure enough, we pulled off at a small place and eventually found the library. I made a large cash donation as I didn't have a local library card. I set up a new email address – fake name and all the fixings. And this is what I sent to the Caymans main post office. Dear Sir/Madam, I have now had 2 bad experiences with the Cayman Island Post Office, or at least with the mail service. 1) I needed to receive extremely urgent business documents so I had them mailed express (or whatever you call it) to 2 different addresses to insure it's arrival. Both never arrived. I had to have an associate fly to the Caymans and bring it back personally, at great expense. 2) At Xmas time, I sent an important client in the Caymans a one of a kind present to his current and correct P.O. Box. It never arrived. I do hope that these are just 2 very bad coincidences, and that the Caymans Post Office is not inhabited by thieves. It is of great concern to our company as reliable service is mandatory. Any further problems will likely result in a recommendation to the Board that our extensive off shore business be moved elsewhere. The Board has asked for a response. Thank you. CEO Bruno Atom my friends call me up... oh what a tangled weave we web... and if not already stated, this email is confidential and subject to copyright and written without prejudice... So far I haven't got a reply. Soon come…
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I knew of a campground straight north of Winnipeg (winterpeg), capital of mosquitoes in season. There must have been a west nile scare as the campground was empty and free – and not one sketter. Beautiful spot by the lake. hungry bird am i fluttering in one spot now then diving dinner
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break time my mother died on this day, 15 years ago. I'd just like to thank her for all that she did for me. I haven't met her again yet, she is there. Somewhere near where the sandpipers dart back and forth to tease the dog. There they are now.
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Kenora and me go way back. I had a summer make work job there, working in the woods at 17. I had just got back from school in Switzerland, Paris and London. We were all 17 and spent most of our free time trying to find free beer and smoking the dope that the people from Toronto had brought. The only thing that we were told was watch out for the drunken Indians on our days off. Unfortunately, they were correct. Years later, I was driving with a friend thru. Just past Kenora, we came around a corner and there had just been a very serious accident. A police car had just arrived and there were 4 dead bodies on the road. A pickup truck had driven thru the side of the van and was sticking out the other side. This trip, we came to a sudden stop. We were backed up for a mile or so. Three car accident – at least 2 dead. People were having picnics, admiring the Squire. We spent our time doing a complete check of all visible parts, belts, alternator, you name it. And of course, the hikers were getting high. I was sneaking a peak at the woods. We were in ontari air e o. driving along the coast of Superior. I wanted to stop. World class white water. But I was driven. change myself - Todd Rundgren (copyrighted) http://www.lyricsfreak.com/t/todd+rundgren/change+myself_20138095.html itunes – from the CD 2nd Wind – 3 different live versions
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I let the hikers off on the trans Canada, just past the turn off for Mulligan's retreat. He has a cottage on the sand beach and a 270 acre retreat about 10 miles from the cottage and 2 miles from the village. First thing was to go see Mulligan's fishing guru and arrange a day – lake trout or muskie was the question of the day. I checked on the retreat and the cottage. got the sauna going listening for wipperwills slept with breeze breathing We were just getting back from fishing. I got 2 eight pound lake trout. We were stopped at the gate of the park. I wandered over to the bulletin board. I saw it right away. BRUNO Emergency Call Kelly or Claudia On satellite only Or check triple encrypted email address NOW I stored the car. Read my email on latest. Borrowed a satellite phone. Got a ride to airport. Booked to Miami / Grand Caymans. Left.
This journal is dedicated to Janwillem van de Wetering. - for many of his books)
Brunosan…