Chapter Three: The Skills to Succeed

As we established in the first two chapters, certain skills are required if a life journey is to be successful. But before we define what those skills are, we need to establish the definition of a successful journey. In my case, it was anything other than what I had been doing in life up until my departure. In Lauren’s case, it was a journey of self-worth. Jason’s, arguably failed journey, was meeting a fiery demise.

Before I had set out on my quest, I trained my body and mental fortitude to be able to withstand things that normally crush a person once they leave city limits. Having myself in the right frame of mind was enough to at least survive, if not thrive, against anything I may encounter out in the world. But that wouldn’t be enough to sustainably continue my adventure into the unknown.

When I first had arrived at the roadhouse, I immediately realized a skill that would help me on my way. Basic combat. Having no formal instructor, I used my environment as an instructor and though it would still be some time before I’d have real instruction, this was the base from which all combat encounters I would have would derive from.

It was after I reached Denver by Greyhound that it would soon be apparent, I needed another skill to survive. Foraging. And I don’t mean wilderness foraging, that would just come with the territory of the journey itself. I mean foraging, as in making your own way, day by day. When I left home, I had less than $2000 to my name. A few stiff drinks, bus ticket, and some convenience food later and it was apparent this was not a self-replicating well of rationing.

After several days of perusing the mile high city, I found myself at a large train depot. It suddenly dawned on me that I could hitch onto any train I wanted and go in any direction around the country. So, I snuck past the railroad yard bulls and looked for a boxcar I could stowaway in. As luck would have it, I found one. I climbed up inside and began to shut the door when suddenly, I heard a voice.

“That train's heading to the southwest kiddo,” the voice said.

I looked around to see where it was coming from. Diagonal from me was another open boxcar with a scraggly old man sitting with his legs dangling off the side. He looked like the definition of a hobo. Well-worn brown jeans, gray, unkempt hair and scruffy beard, with a patchy old tan blazer jacket draped over a dingy white t-shirt. My immediate instinct was that this guy must have a wealth of knowledge for the adventure which I was about to embark on.

“And what’s wrong with the southwest?” I asked, as I hopped off the train and made my way towards his. I didn’t care about his answer, I already knew I’d be better off riding along with him.

“Train cars in the southwest this time of year get awfully hot. You could even suffocate inside of one. This here train is headed for the pacific northwest,” he answered as he reached out his hand to help me up in his boxcar.

“The names Grady,” he continued, “and you are?”

“Call me Guy,” I said, deciding to just keep that going.

“Well look at us, a couple of regular G-men are we?” he snickered.

I smirked but before the conversation could continue, there was movement with the train. A bit of grinding around and before you knew it, we were trailing off out of the station.

Grady offered me some chuck wagon stew he was boiling up in a small pot under a pocket sized stove he made that was powered by Isopropyl Alcohol. We talked well into the night about his many journeys around north and central America by train, and how he worked for a traveling carnival in his youth. He said that stationary life never did much for him, so he always looked towards the rails.

After several hours of talking, I asked him if there was anything I needed to know that he could teach me about life on the move like this. He leaned back, under the starry moonlit night and paused for a bit. Then he stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet.

He said, “The only thing that I can teach you is this.”

I looked at him confused, until I realized something. That was my wallet!

He started laughing hysterically and tossed the wallet back and forth almost like he was juggling. I laughed uncomfortably too but then got real nervous and asked, “So what's the lesson? That you can’t trust anyone out on the road?”

He stopped laughing abruptly and looked at me and said, “No, that’s not the lesson. Nor is it the case. The lesson is…that the hand is quicker than the eye.”

I listened intently as he began to pace around the boxcar a little.

He said, “I’ll teach you a trick of my trade if you can complete one task. If in three days, you can obtain both your wallet back from me and snatch my own at the same time, I’ll teach you and let you keep the contents of my wallet.”

I chuckled a bit, “That’s it? You want me to steal my own wallet back from you, and yours. I don’t mean to sound harsh, Grady, but I can easily overpower you.”

“Dammit, I’m not talking about brawling with me,” he interjected, “I’m talking about stealthing. Of course, you can over power me. But are you gonna overpower every person you encounter, friend or foe? Will the authorities of the various lands you tread be ok with you overpowering people on the streets? What if you need food and shelter and have no legitimate means of paying for it? Tis it not better to steal from a rich man to live another day than it is to kill your fellow commoner?”

I perked up and straightened my back in the sitting position I was in, “Okay, I think I understand now. You want to simulate pickpocketing with me to show me your methods?”

“That’s right. Stand up,” he coaxed, “walk past me and take the wallet right out of my pocket. Don’t try to be fancy or stealthy, I know you’re coming to do it.”

So, I stood up, and after a moment, I walked to Grady’s left. I slipped my hand in his pocket and found my wallet. Then stopped and turned around to show it. It was a dummy! I thought for sure I saw him put my wallet in his pocket not seconds before he asked me to take it from him.

“So, three days good for you?” he asked.

I agreed, and then over the next three days, we would run all manner of simulations against each other. Constantly stealing our wallets and hiding them on our persons from each one another. For the first day, he would run circles around me. The next thing you know, I’d be able to get my own wallet back but not his. After a few hours, I finally nabbed it and as I started to celebrate, I reached for my own and it was gone again.

The next day was the opposite. As soon as I’d get his wallet, he’d reveal that he had mine and we carried on again for hours. Of course, we’d stop to relax, smell the roses, take bathroom breaks off the side of the car, eat, etc… But we’d always manage to find a way to try to rip each other off again to trigger hours more of faux theft.

Finally, on the third day, I got Grady’s wallet and then my own. For real this time. I held both of them up and he congratulated me. He then asked me to open my wallet up. I did, and it was empty. Before I could even recognize the shock on my own face, Grady charged me. He knocked me off the train, sending me tumbling into the grass hills below.

He yelled from the train, “Ya did good kid. Just consider the cash I lifted from ya payment for teachin you the trade!”

The train rolled on before I could fully bring myself to my feet. Though a bit discouraged at the loss of all my funds after only a little over a week on the road, I could not deny the value of what Grady taught me.

“Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he’ll eat for a lifetime,” he had said the night before.

Before dusting myself off and setting out to find a nearby town, I reached in my pocket and found Grady’s beaten old wallet. Inside was $500 leftover from my stash. I smiled and moved on.

That little excursion took me through two states, though I had only seen 1.5 of them from the view of the train. I found myself in Idaho, where I could stretch what little money I had and make my way slowly to Washington State. This next part of my journey was rather boring, so I’ll skip to the good stuff for you. But over the next few days, I worked the occasional odd job. Washing dishes at truck stops and cleaning bathrooms. I pickpocketed the well to do’s when I saw fit, keeping true to Grady’s philosophy. I stuck mostly to the rural areas, on the off chance anyone was looking for a drifter that blew up his apartment in St. Louis and killed some loser in Kansas. On the third day, I decided to shortcut my way through the forests of the great pacific northwest. This would turn out to be a huge mistake.

I had never really gone into the wilderness before. I camped in my backyard as a kid in the late 70s, but out in the bush, I didn’t have smores. It was wet, then hot, then dry. The further off the beaten path I got, the creepier it felt too. The only thing I had to go off of was a gas station map of the national parks. I wasn’t exactly a master of celestial navigation either. But every time I stopped to try and get my bearings, something felt off. Like someone or something was following me. Watching from just out of view. I conjured up possibilities in my mind of folklore I grew up hearing about. Bigfoot, Dogman, Wendigo. I creeped myself out to the point that I was hoping it was just a serial killer, so I at least stood a chance.

I decided it best not to camp out at night and kept walking on into the morning. The next day came, and I started to run dry on my peanuts and beef jerky rations. At least now I could see Sasquatch coming at me though. As I walked on through the forest, I started to hear the sound of running water. It was a waterfall! So, I moved towards it to refill my bottles. When I got to the source of the sound, I found an old little shanty. It was nestled in a clearing between the stream of water and the edge of the forest. I cautiously approached.

“Hello,” I called out.

No one answered. I called a few more times as I walked up to the door of the shack and gave it a few knocks. Still no reply. I tried the handle and sure enough, it wasn’t locked. I slowly crept in, keeping my guard up. Inside was a dusty old single room that appeared to have a makeshift kitchen on one side and living room on the other. I looked around, adjusting my eyes, due to the fact that it was dark other than the sunlight beaming in from the few windows the structure had. That’s when I saw it. The decomposed corpse of a renegade mountain man that previously inhabited this dwelling. He had the most horrific scratch mark across his face, like the claw of an enormous monster.

I jumped backwards and darted out of the shanty. Thoughts raced through my mind. How long was he dead? He didn’t seem fresh but he wasn’t a skeleton. Could whatever did that to him still be around here? I was about to find out. Running wildly away from the scene I found myself face to face with the scariest thing I had witnessed up to that point in my life. A gigantic Grizzly bear.

The bear roared as it stood up on its hind legs and towered over me. I skidded to a stop and turned back the way I came before the beast started to pursue me. I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do so I ran to the only haven I could think of. The mountain man's house. When I got inside, I slammed the door shut and started to barricade it. I tipped over the old wooden table in the kitchen and lodged it up against the door. I grabbed every solid object I could find and piled it behind. The bear slammed into the door, but it held. I could hear it huffing just on the other side.

I had no idea what to do. Fighting hicks was one thing but this thing was a fucking monster. I cowered in the shadows hoping to give the bear the impression I was gone. It stopped beating on the door and paced around outside. I began looking around for any kind of weapon I could find. Then I noticed something interesting. In one of the lower cabinets was a wooden box with several mason jars. The jars were filled with a clear liquid. Moonshine!

I was out of ideas. I knew the bear outside could outlast me; I was already aching for calories. To it, I was calories. If I hunkered down to rest, I was taking a huge risk. On one hand, the bear could leave, but on the other, it would bust in here. Either way, I was gonna wear out before I could escape since I hadn’t eaten in half a day. My best bet was to load up on liquor and use what strength I had left to book it out of the place and try to outrun the bear. The moonshine would make me impervious to any non-fatal strikes the bear might give me and keep my legs going once my shins started to hurt from running.

After guzzling the mason jars, I waited for the effects to start and take hold. Once I started getting that invincible feeling I felt before, I made my move. I slowly cleared the debris away from the door and creaked it open. There was the bear. Before letting it get the jump on me, I made a psycho dash away from the shanty and into the woods, hoping to use the trees as cover. That’s when I learned a horrific lesson. You absolutely cannot outrun a bear. I felt a slash of several claws clip my back. Thankfully the pain was subsided quickly by the liquor. I turned around a large tree to shield from a second attack. The bear came around to pursue me. I decided to fight back. I swung and walloped the bear across the face with my right fist. The grizzly stood up and let out a growl. I didn’t wait around and started running again. It didn’t take long for it to catch up again to swipe at the back of my legs. I fell to one knee as I turned around to face it. The bear started swiping at me as I shielded myself with my forearms. Blood was everywhere. I started to crawl backwards with one hand but lost my balance. Turns out I was on the edge of a large hill.

Before the bear could do anymore damage against me, I began to tumble backwards through brush and thicket. The hill was steep and thankfully bears can’t run downhill. But all the same, my body tumbled and rolled fiercely on against the steady decline until finally crashing at the bottom next to a state highway. Once hitting the ground, I passed out from the impact.

Not long after, a car pulled up and a young couple about my age got out. The guy was tall and thin with black hair and shades on and the girl was pretty with fair skin and long flowing red hair like Jean Grey from the X-Men.

“Oh my god, Robbie, we have to do something!” she shrieked.

“Jess, this is a horrible time to grow a conscience,” the guy rebutted as he jumped out of the car after her.

“It’s a human being! Look at him. We can’t just leave him here,” she insisted.

Robbie looked around with his hands on his hips, shook his head, then threw his hands up. The two lifted my bloody, worn body up and put me into the backseat of the car. They drove off hastily and I could faintly hear them speak as they raced me to a hospital.

“Look, we drop him off at the emergency room and we take off okay. End of story,” he stated.

“But Robbie, what if this guy has family that’s looking for him? We should stick around to see if we can help them get in touch,” Jess retorted.

“Honey! We got people looking for us, Besides, we’re already helping this guy out. The doctors can take it from there.”

The two remained quiet for a few seconds with Jess just looking at him from the passenger seat.

“Don’t look at me like that sweety,” he acknowledged, “I know you’re trying to convince me to do something outside my nature. You always do this.”

She just continued looking at him without saying a word.

Robbie sighed and replied, “Alright. Let’s see what kind of adventure John Doe here takes us on.”

At the hospital, I had not yet fully regained my consciousness. The rain was pouring down on this small town on the Oregon border and the couple waited in the lobby outside the observation room I was admitted into. A female doctor approached them with a clipboard and began telling them of my condition.

“He has a concussion and he’s pretty badly cut but should make a full recovery. He had a lot of alcohol in his system so thankfully he didn’t go into shock from the pain. We’ve got him on intravenous pain meds now. There was the matter of his identification. Can you give me his name?”

“Umm, we don’t know. He was just some guy we found on the side of the road,” Robbie explained.

“Hmm,” said the doctor, “Well, the two of you are heroes. He was probably going to die out there in this storm tonight. He should be waking up soon. I’m sure he’d like to thank you when he does if you wanna wait in the room with him.”

“Ya know Doc, we probably should get going,” Robbie said before Jess interrupted him.

“Robbie. It’s okay. Let’s wait.”

The two decided to come into my hospital room. I was still largely out of it at the time, but I vaguely remember them coming in. A few minutes later, a state trooper came into the room. Robbie perked up and eyeballed Jess.

“Evening,” the officer said, “I understand you two are quite the heroes. Excellent job getting this poor guy here in time.”

“Yeah, we were just trying to do the right thing, officer,” Robbie said nervously.

“Animal attacks can be pretty brutal. Did either of you see the bear that did this?”

“No officer,” Jess answered, “he fell down a hill after the bear attacked him. We found him by the side of the road.”

“I see,” the officer said as he jotted notes, “well, I’ll get this report to the National Park Service and they can try to keep an eye out for any further bear aggression in the area. There was just one more question I had.”

“Yes, officer?” Robbie said as he gulped.

“The car parked outside the emergency room was reported stolen in Idaho earlier today.

Would that happen to be the one you two brought the patient in?”

The couple went silent. They couldn’t muster words if their lives depended on it. Another moment and the trooper surely would’ve arrested them.

“It’s my car sir,” I piped up.

All three turned and looked at me in my battered state as I came to.

“Your car? How did they find you on the side of the road if it was yours?” the policeman asked.

“I was hiking in the park early in the morning and got lost. I thought I made my way back to where I parked and freaked out when it wasn’t there. I went to a payphone and called it in.

We found it later, but the bear attacked me before I could call back.”

“So, you know these two?”

I replied quickly, “yes, these are my friends. Rob and Jess,” thankfully I knew that from overhearing their conversation earlier in my state of delirium.

The cop looked on at me with his mouth open a moment before shrugging and said, “Look, this has been a pretty rough day for all of you. I’m gonna assume some wires got crossed and let you folks relax. Of course, I have to follow up on this, but I’ll let you rest for now.”

“We appreciate that officer,” Jess expressed as the state trooper left the room.

“Why did you do that for us?” Robbie asked me.

My response was simple, “One of you needs to go get me a wheelchair and whichever of you steals cars needs to go get one now. Do not fucking leave me in here.”

“Right,” Robbie said as he nodded to Jess.

She went and got me a chair while Robbie took a trip down to the visitors parking lot. Watching those two in action was like a moving work of art. They were sly and cunning. Jess got me past the nurse’s station, the security team, and out the building to Robbie opening the back of a freshly stolen Chrysler minivan before the State Trooper could even finish his follow up. The three of us headed off to Seattle together. A couple of weeks in a nice hotel room and I was almost good as new.